Inevitability
by TheSingingGirl
Summary: Another AU for the end of series 2. Because Robin and Marian are inevitable.
1. Part 1: Chapter 1

_A/N: The name of this story comes from the fact that as soon as I saw the series 2 finale, it was inevitable that I would write this. And I like to think that it was inevitable that Robin and Marian ended up together. Even if you take the BBC's version over mine, they will end up together in death, one day. So! Welcome to Inevitability. It picks up seconds after Marian closes her eyes._

* * *

Until this moment he'd been calm. For her. Now she had gone, now that she had pulled the sword from her own belly, now that her eyes were closed and her breath was still, he fell apart.

"No! Marian!"

His cries echoed across the battlefield, the blood-soaked sand, the watching outlaws silent in their grief and horror. The King bowed his head respectfully. Gisbourne and the Sheriff lived to fight another day, and Marian...

"Marian, you can't leave me. You're my wife now, you cannot leave me, do you hear? Marian!"

Djaq glanced at Will, and moved forward. "Robin. You must let her be at rest."

Robin Hood, leader of the strongest and most successful band of outlaws in England, did not heed her words at all. He just stopped his desperate cries and broke down into sobs instead, clutching the still-warm body against his own. "Marian..."

"She's right," Will said, coming to support his new girlfriend. If the word was really applicable. "She needs to be prepared for—"

But he couldn't say it, and neither would anyone else. They had accepted Marian's death – they'd seen the wound, Djaq had proclaimed what would happen once the blade was removed and they believed her wholeheartedly – but he had not accepted it, and he would not, and none of them wanted to be the one to tell him that she was beyond calling back with lovelorn pleas.

"Robin," Djaq tried again, but he shook his head.

"No, Djaq. Just leave me alone. Just..."

He couldn't complete the thought, but Djaq saw the order as a positive one. He'd at least used 'me' rather than 'us', and he was sending the physician away. He must have, on some level at least, accepted the inevitable. She shook her head, and beckoned to the others, drawing them away from the pair of them, leaving Robin to mourn his wife in peace. Even the King turned away without a word of complaint. He owed him this, and he owed her. They had saved his life together; he would give them this time together.

"Marian..." Robin whispered. "Oh, Marian."

He seemed to remember he'd done this once before. She was dead and he was regretting everything he'd not said to her, everything he'd not done with her, everywhere he'd not seen with her, the life he'd not led with her. But he knew that lightening did not strike twice, and anyway, what could be more different? Then she'd been lying in a cool cave in beautiful Sherwood Forest, with Djaq working over her; now she was clutched in his arms in the harsh heat of the Holy Land, and no one was even entertaining the thought that she could still be alive. Because she wasn't.

He'd seen the blade go in. He'd seen it come back out again. He'd seen her blood, staining the silver, pouring from her like her foolish words. And to think that he'd once wished that she would tell Guy of Gisbourne the truth of her feelings; to think that he'd wanted to see the look on his face as she dashed his dreams. He hadn't even seen his face, in the end. He'd been watching Marian, running to her, ignoring Gisbourne. What was he when placed next to her?

"Didn't you hear?" he whispered to her. "What John said earlier: today is not a good day to die? Any other day... no, no other day. We were stupid, you and I. You were right, I should have been more careful, but so should you. We were too confident, we thought we were invincible. How many times have you thought I was dead or I thought you were... We were teasing fate, weren't we? Every time we got through another assassination plot, another execution attempt, we got a little less scared. We should have been terrified, Marian. And we should have seized the day long ago. We should have married months ago, found a priest somewhere who was sympathetic. And stupid, stupid me, I should have asked you. Forced you to answer me. Oh, Marian, Marian..."

The tears continued to fall from his eyes and drip onto her cheeks, still flushed with the memory of life. The soldier that still lurked inside him reminded himself that this was a waste of water. This was a harsh environment and water should be treasured. Every part of Robin agreed that this was a harsh environment; it was tainted with too many deaths, and the only one that would kill him, too. The sun beat down on his back, burning his neck, and the only breeze to bring relief was the breath from her lips—

Wait. Had he truly gone mad with grief?

"DJAQ!"

He wouldn't waste time deciding whether that was true.

"Djaq! Come here, quickly! _Djaq_!"

The young Saracen woman came pelting into the deserted town square, Will only half a step behind her. Much came behind them, and then Allan, and finally John. He wondered briefly why they assumed they were needed; did they think he would harm Djaq in his madness? He knew, really, that they cared about him too much to leave him alone for too long; Much in particular would never leave without being forced, as had been proven many a time before. At this moment, though, he was in too much of a hurry to need anyone other than Djaq.

"She's breathing," he said in a rush. The words might not have been coherent to anyone other than a linguist; even though English was not her native language, Djaq was so practiced at unravelling English words that she was the best eavesdropper in the group, and she understood now.

She dropped to her knees, knocked Robin's hands out the way, but he couldn't care now. Nothing mattered if she could... Djaq held her fingers close to the Englishwoman's lips and her eyes widened to the size of stars. Abruptly, she scrambled to Marian's wound and began re-examining it, evaluating it afresh.

"Um, Djaq," Much said awkwardly. He glanced at Robin and bent closer, as if that would stop Robin hearing his words when he was so focused on Djaq. "Is there actually any hope? I mean, I want her to live, of course I do, but, um, you know—"

"Don't give him false hope," John said grimly.

"She knows what she's doing, alright?" Will defended her. "Just let her do it."

A cry burst from Djaq, unintelligible to all the others save Robin, for he had learned her language, and he recognised now the triumphant word "yes!"

"Go and get physicians," Robin said, his voice now low and urgent. "I don't care who, just go!"

"Right, yeah," Allan said and started sprinting off in the direction that the King had gone. Will wouldn't leave Djaq and Much wouldn't leave Robin, but John followed after Allan, slightly slower because of his size but still haring after the younger man with a surprising speed.

Djaq began firing instructions at the three men left behind, tearing open Marian's dress at the same time. Thanks to the urgency, not even Much blushed, though both he and Will winced when the torn flesh was exposed. "Will, tear her skirts into bandages. Much, pressure, here. Robin, make sure her heart keeps going, and if it doesn't, hit it."

"How's she still alive?" Will asked.

"Oh, this woman is the luckiest one ever. The sword, it missed her liver, her stomach, it went between! Still too much bleeding, we need to stop that, but her organs are alright!"

"So she'll live?" Much blurted, his hands pressed where Djaq had indicated.

"Pray to our gods, she should. She is young and strong, and she has overcome trauma before."

Much let out a cry of sheer delight, but Robin's face remained solemn. He couldn't allow himself to hope just yet. His hand lay on her breast, desperately praying that the repetitive _thud-thud_ would keep going. _Thud-thud. Thud-thud._

"Here," Will said.

Marian's skirt was now fearfully immodest, but what did it matter? Djaq grabbed the makeshift bandages and stuffed one into the wound to staunch the steady flow of blood, leaving the rest for the moment while the injury remained untreated. "Hurry up," she cried.

"What?" Much asked, affronted.

"Not you! The physicians."

"Oh."

They waited for a few minutes, in place, silent and tense. There was nothing to be said and no way to relax. There was only the continual _thud-thud_ that kept them all there, desperately hoping. Finally, Robin's keen ears pricked up. "Horses," he said, and soon the others could hear them too.

"Thank the Lord," said Much.

"And Allah," Will added.

Djaq smiled at the show of solidarity. "And a couple of mortals, too."

"There they are!" cried Allan. "Come on, quick!"

An English physician vaulted off his horse and sprinted to the dusty group, Allan hot on his heels. John lumbered behind them, sweating profusely.

"Get out of the way," the doctor ordered irritably.

None of them did.

"I'm not moving," Robin said with quiet authority.

The man sighed, recognising a youth in love. "The rest of you then."

Much looked to Djaq, who shook her head and looked to Will. She knew an English soldier would not listen to her.

"She's a physician, too," Will said.

"She?" came the inevitable question.

"We haven't time for this," Robin exploded. "Djaq is a Saracen physician who now lives in England, and is devoted to helping King Richard and saving England. I, Robin of Locksley, vouch for her. She's saved all our lives before; she treated the King's arrow wound. So get on with it."

"Indeed," the man said. He was war-weary, naturally suspicious of the dark-skinned woman who claimed to be a doctor, but he knew better. "What's the wound?"

Djaq began firing off information at the speed of an arrow, listing the damage caused by the sword, detailing what needed to be done to save Marian's life. The physician looked impressed, but thankfully did not waste time, pulling out knives and needles from a worn leather bag. Within a minute, the English man and the Saracen woman were working over the wound, Will and Much sitting back uselessly, John and Allan watching silently, Robin still feeling the _thud-thud_ that kept him alive.

At one point, Djaq began bemoaning the lack of diversity in the remedies carried by the doctor.

"If only we had Saracen medicine!" she complained. "Even what I make in the forest..."

"It is heathen!" the Englishman protested, shocked.

"No, it's not," Will argued. "It's science, not religious. How can that be heathen?"

"Stop quarrelling!" Robin ordered. "Concentrate."

"She's safe now," the physician soothed him.

"Safe?" Much questioned, his eyes wide and fearful.

"Yes," Djaq confirmed. "I would prefer it if we had something suitable to stop infection, but she will live now."

A single tear slipped down Robin's face and fell onto Marian's exposed neck. "Thank you," he said, not directly to either doctor, but to both.

"What's your name?" Much asked the Englishman.

"Matthews," he answered. "Adam Matthews. And you?"

"I'm Much," he replied cheerfully. "And this is Will, and, um, you know everyone else."

"Except for my patient," Matthews said. "Your man Allan called her Marian?"

"Yes," Robin said, smiling for the first time in too long. "Lady Marian of Locksley. My wife."

The outlaws all smiled in harmony with him, knowing their story, but Matthews took the statement as something completely normal, and merely nodded. Somehow, that made Robin even happier, to know that here and now, their marriage was perfectly normal, acceptable, and not a secret to anyone. And he could claim that she was the Lady of Locksley and no one would bat an eyelid, or think of Guy of Gisbourne. Though they had not been married in the eyes of the law, it hardly mattered. They were married in the eyes of God, and they were married in their own eyes. They were just Robin and Marian, Lord and Lady of Locksley, and everything was how it was meant to be.


	2. Part 1: Chapter 2

Back at King Richard's war camp that evening, the medical tent had two new occupants. Marian lay on one of their beds, and Robin sat beside her. Djaq was also making herself useful around the area, imparting her knowledge to those who would hear it. Will asked her once if she felt like she was doing wrong by helping her enemy, to which she replied that all she was doing was helping the injured.

"If I let people die when I could save them, I would be doing more wrong than if I didn't. Does it matter who these people are? So long as I'm saving someone."

No one could argue with that.

"How are you?" she asked Robin now.

"I'm fine, thanks," he replied warmly.

"Liar," she said. "You are dead on your feet. You haven't slept in three days, and you barely slept on the ship."

It was true; on the journey to the Holy Land, Robin had annoyed Much and Allan no end as he paced throughout the night. Knowing that they were a day or more behind the Sheriff had aggravated him beyond belief; knowing that they had Marian had frightened him senseless. The more Allan told him of what had happened, the more scared he became. As a result, he had slept for only a fraction of what the rest had managed, even Little John, who was traumatised by seasickness. He had eaten less as well, though he was never a valiant trencherman. In short, he was not in the best of shape and had been running on pure adrenaline.

He shook his head. "I've gone longer without sleep."

"And it was bad for you then," she argued. "Marian will not wake up any time soon. Go and find yourself a bed; she will still be here when you wake up."

He sighed. "As ever, Djaq, you speak utter sense."

"And as ever, Robin, you are ignoring me."

He laughed. "You know me too well."

"Robin," she said warningly. "If you will not sleep, I will drug you to sleep."

"Djaq," he protested.

"I mean it."

"I know you do," he half-laughed. "That's why I'm arguing. Oh, alright then," he sighed. "I'll sleep. But I'm sleeping here."

"Very well," she agreed.

"And if there's any change—"

"We will wake you. But there won't be." She smiled at his stubbornness. "I will go and fetch some blankets. And some food. You need to eat."

"Thank you," he said, and returned to watching Marian sleep.

Allan was his next caller. He still felt guilty, understandably, and slightly awkward around the gang. This included Robin, but he felt a kinship towards Marian that they had somehow struck up in between his betrayal of her fiancé to her ex-fiancé and his saving her from execution along with the latter. Even Robin, who at one point could have easily killed the man, felt a grudging gratitude towards him for his part in mimicking the Nightwatchman.

"She alright?" Allan asked, approaching the bed.

"According to Djaq," Robin replied.

"Cheer up!" Allan said. "She's alive, and you're married, and the King's not dead, and look at her! That's not like earlier, or like last time."

He had a point. Last time (no one needed to define _last time_) her face had been deathly pale in the flickering torchlight and the seeping daylight from the entrance of the cave. Her lips had been the pink of snow at dawn, barely coloured, and she had exuded a coldness which was frightening to behold. Here and now, after a few hours of recovery, her cheeks were flushed with the heat that her body could still feel, and though her lips were chapped from the sand and dry winds, they were a deep crimson, practically advertising the blood which still pumped round her body, steady and reliable.

"No, you're right," Robin agreed. "I'm just tired. It's been one hell of a day."

"You're not wrong there," Allan said.

A beat, in which they reflected on just how right that statement was.

"Do they know when she'll wake up?" Allan asked.

Robin shook his head. "Djaq doesn't think for at least a day. Apparently it's the best way of healing. And I don't think she's been sleeping well these past nights either."

"No," Allan agreed sheepishly.

Robin decided not to pick up on his tone, or the fact that Allan had told him on the journey that he himself had shackled Marian to the stable wall of the inn in Portsmouth.

"What are the others doing?"

"Well, Will's helping put together an extra tent for us. I think he wanted Djaq away from the others, if you ask me. John's... ignoring me, and helping Will when he can. Much is worrying, but they've got him on food duty to shut him up. Last I heard, he was having a nice chat with someone who he used to know out here," Allan informed him.

Robin nodded, wondering who Much's old friend could be. Though they were in the same place as they had been those short years ago, it seemed to be a world away. He'd been a different person then.

Allan snorted slightly. "Not being funny, but I bet this isn't how you imagined your wedding night."

Some people never changed. "Allan!"

"What? It's true!"

"What is true?" Djaq asked, returning with bedding folded over her arm.

"Nothing," Allan said quickly.

She laughed. "Nothing? If nothing is true then this is a very strange world."

"Thanks," Robin said, taking a bedroll from her and laying it out beside Marian's bed.

"Much will bring some food over," she told him. "He wants to come and see you anyway. And I don't think they wanted me near the kitchens. I heard someone saying I was sure to poison something," she laughed.

Robin sighed, but Allan laughed too. "Must've been someone who's tried your cooking."

Even Robin smiled at that. The one and only occasion Djaq had tried to cook for the gang, Much, Will, Allan and John had ended up bedridden with food poisoning. The major surprise was that Robin escaped unscathed. Djaq theorised that it was because he had fought off such a bad infection before that even her cooking couldn't hurt him now.

"The soldiers aren't being too racist, are they?" Robin asked.

Djaq sighed, exasperated. "I can look after myself. And no, they're not. Matthews is telling everyone that I can be trusted."

"I think he fancies her," Allan said conspiratorially.

"Will doesn't like him," Djaq added.

Robin chuckled. "Will Scarlett, jealous. What have you done to the poor boy?"

"Who are you to judge people for being jealous?" Allan asked.

Everyone realised that he had put his foot in it at exactly the same time. No one wanted a reminder of Gisbourne at this moment.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Robin shook his head. "Don't be."

It was the closest to forgiveness that Allan had come so far. Somehow, he realised that it would be best not to push it. Losing the gang's trust had been such a rapid change that gaining it again would no doubt be a long and slow-moving process. It would be difficult for Allan, who had always favoured the easy route, but he had learnt the lessons of this latter way of living. He would make it.

"Right, then, I'll just..." He gestured to the tent entrance.

"See you later," Djaq said, saving him the trouble of finding an excuse to disappear before he made another mistake.

"Yeah. See you later," he echoed, and disappeared.

"It's nice that you're getting on again," Robin said.

Djaq looked a little shamefaced, as though she'd done something wrong, but Robin shook his head.

"No, I actually meant that. He needs someone to be nice to him. I know I'm going to have trouble with that."

"Let him talk to you," Djaq advised him. "He told me all about his time in the castle, and it helped. He was stupid, but he knows he was. And he did try not to do too much wrong. When they were going to the camp, he wasn't even going to come to the new camp. He was going to go to the cave, because Gisbourne saw us defend it before."

"Really?" Both scepticism and guilt laced his voice. He hadn't even considered this when they'd first moved to intercept Allan and Gisbourne.

"Yes. He was really upset when he realised we didn't trust him even that much, and neither did Marian, because he realised that it looked like he _couldn't_ be trusted at all. He never wanted to be completely evil, but he felt like he was, that day."

Tired as he was, Robin couldn't find the energy to argue with Djaq's words, and so found himself thinking about the truth of them. Most interesting was the idea of Allan's own perception of himself. He remembered how Allan had blown off comments about his conscience before, and how it seemed in hindsight to be overly defensive. Will had been right: Allan had had a hard time living with himself.

"Will said he'd make another tag for him, sometime. He wouldn't say when. And he's already made another one for Marian," Djaq smiled.

"She never did have one," Robin said absently.

Djaq sat down beside him on his makeshift bed. "You two need a very long talk about what you are going to do now."

"I know," he agreed, and rubbed his face hard with his fist, a habit born of frustration. "It seems like we can't go a week without having yet another complete haul-over of our lives."

"Your life," she corrected, quietly. "And I need to talk to both of you, too. Don't decide anything until you've spoken to me."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

"There are things I need to tell you, but Marian needs to know, too. I'm going to wait for her to wake up before telling you."

"And you won't change your mind on that, will you?" Robin said.

"No," she agreed with a smile. "So just remember that."

"I will," he promised.

It was at this point that Much entered the tent, bearing a plate of something and looking around with nervous eyes. He had spent far too long in, if not this tent, one very similar, waiting for Robin to wake up, talking to him in his fever-bound madness. Too many men had died around him as he waited for his master to wake up. Being back in the Holy Land was not doing Much any favours.

"Master!" he said, spotting him and Djaq over in the corner, which was the most seclusion Marian could hope for in the communal battlefield hospital. "I brought you some stew. It's goat," he admitted with distaste, handing the dish over.

"Better than squirrel," Djaq ruled.

"It's not squirrel!" Much exploded.

A soldier in the next bed with a leg half-hewn off leant on his good side to ask them, in less than courteous language, to keep the noise down.

"Sorry!" Much whispered. He shivered. "I don't like this place," he muttered.

"Neither do I," Robin agreed.

"Does anyone?" Djaq asked.

Once again, no one had an answer. Djaq had a habit of doing that, of making a statement so simply obvious that no one could reply to it, and at the same time lending it a gravity and wisdom that proclaimed it as completely and utterly true. Will had much the same gift; he said little but conveyed more than should be possible in so few words. They made a brilliant pair.

Robin dug into the stew, discovering that he actually was hungry. It reminded him of days back in the wars, when he had felt like he could never eat another bite again, then discovered that his body was far more prosaic than his mind. Whatever befell him, his stomach would always want food, and his throat would always want water. He could never decide whether the reliability was disgusting or a blessing.

"Djaq!" came a soft call. Matthews, who it seemed was gaining a newfound respect for Saracen science, was asking for her help.

"No rest for the wicked," Djaq grinned, standing up.

"You love it," Robin said.

She turned back with an innocent expression. "Did I ever say I didn't?"

With that she hurried off. Much took her seat, his eyes still flickering around the room anxiously.

"Are you alright?" Robin asked Much, softly.

Much looked confused at the question. "Me? Of course!"

"No, I mean really. It's bad enough for me being in the Holy Land at all, never mind in here," he gestured at the tent. "It must be worse for you."

Now, Much looked shocked, and Robin felt guilty. That Kaleela night of Djaq's had really brought up a few home truths, and it was still being proven how true it was. He really had abandoned Much to deal with his demons alone.

"It's alright," Much shrugged. "I'm trying not to think about it. And it all turned out alright in the end. And Marian's alright, too, so... it's alright."

Robin smiled slightly. It was so typically Much. He complained about the trivial things, and was never the best person to have around in a crisis, but if he really had to deal with something, he did. And he would follow Robin to the ends of the earth.

"Eat up," he said now. "You need to eat, you know. You haven't eaten anything in, well, in days."

"You sound like Djaq," Robin smiled, dutifully scooping up some more food.

For a while they sat in companionable silence, a feat that might have seemed impossible to anyone who knew Much, but not to Robin. Much could be quiet when he wanted to, though that in itself didn't occur often. For now, though, what Much wanted was for Robin to eat, and he would do that faster if he didn't have to maintain a conversation. Nevertheless, as soon as Robin finished, the silence was over.

"Well, I'm glad you ate that, you really needed it," Much decided.

"You definitely sound like Djaq."

"It's true! You never eat enough, you know. It's ridiculous, out of all of us you use up the most energy, or maybe John, but you eat less than anyone. Even Djaq eats more than you."

"No, she doesn't."

"Alright, maybe she doesn't, but she doesn't skip meals like you and go wandering off through the forest! So in total, you probably eat less."

"Probably," Robin concurred, and yawned.

"And you're tired! You never sleep, you don't! How many times have I woken up at midnight and you're fletching arrows or just sitting there, wide awake? I've told you that bad dreams get worse when you're tired, but—"

"Much," Robin interrupted. "You're right. I'm tired. And I'm going to get some sleep."

"Brilliant! You need it. Otherwise you'll just get more tired, and that's no good to anybody—"

"I mean now," Robin laughed. "Would you mind clearing off my bed?"

"Oh!" Much jumped up. "Sorry, master. Goodnight, master."

He turned around and scuttled off, but Robin called him back.

"Much!"

He turned back with wide eyes.

"Call me Robin. You've called me master for too long."

To his surprise, Much frowned. "I don't know. I'm used to calling you master."

"Well, get used to calling me Robin. You're not my servant, Much."

"No," Much agreed proudly. "I'll get used to it. Goodnight, Robin."

"Goodnight, Much."

Before he went to sleep though, he couldn't resist stroking Marian's cheek and kissing the ruby that adorned her left hand, and whispering, "Goodnight, Marian, my wife."

Only then did he lie down and go to sleep.


	3. Part 1: Chapter 3

"Marian!"

He woke from another nightmare, this worse than the usual. It was normal to him to dream of the attack on the King by Gisbourne, but tonight he had dreamt that it was Marian there in the Holy Lands, in Acre, and that she had been killed by Guy of Gisbourne.

"It's alright, Robin, she is alright."

"Djaq?"

Reality filtered through in a jumbled mess, reaffirming its presence in his sleep-soaked mind, telling him that yes, Marian was in Acre, and so was he, and so had Guy of Gisbourne been, and so had that sword. But so was Djaq, and so was Matthews, and so Marian was still alive.

He let out a heavy breath. "Just a dream. Sorry, Djaq." He rubbed the sticky residue from his eyes, pulling too hard at his skin to keep him rooted in wakefulness.

"I was going to wake you anyway," Djaq said. "She is stirring. I think she might wake up."

Immediately he was on his feet, looking down at her, and sure enough she seemed restless, moving her head back and forth, trying to free her arm from the blanket on top of her. Her eyelids flickered briefly, and then she opened her eyes.

Such a momentous happening, and all Robin could think of to say was, "Hello."

"Ro... Robin," she said, weakly. "Wh... what's going on?"

"Shh, save your breath," he told her.

"But I'm dead!" she managed. "I was... if I... oh... are you dead, too?"

"No!" he said. "And neither are you. You're alive, Marian."

"Just," Djaq said. "You are the luckiest woman in the world. You should be dead at least twice over, but here you are."

"I thought... when I pulled the sword out..."

"You fainted," Djaq said. "From the pain. You should have died, of course, but you didn't. The sword missed your vital organs, and we were able to put you back together."

"I'm alive?" she said wonderingly.

"Yes," Robin smiled. "Well and truly. Looks like we can't get rid of you that easily."

"Hey!" she complained.

"Glad to see you are both back to normal," Djaq said tartly. "I am going to get you some water," she told Marian. "I don't want you to eat anything for another day or so, but you need to drink lots."

"Alright," she agreed easily.

"Now, don't move!" Djaq ordered her. "No sitting up, no turning over, no nothing. Just stay there. Promise?"

"I promise," she said.

"Good." Djaq left the tent.

"How are you?" Marian asked Robin.

"Me?" he asked incredulously. "I'm not the one who had a sword stuck through my belly."

"Just answer the question," she said.

"I'm... fine, actually. Djaq's been ensuring I sleep, and Much has been stuffing me with food, and you're alive. There's nothing not to be fine about."

"Good," she said lazily. "What about everyone else?"

"They're alright. Well, I haven't really seen John or Will—I've been in here. But Much is holding up well, all things considering, and Djaq's in her element."

"And Allan?"

"He came to see you last night," he told her. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but he really does care about you."

"He cares about the rest of you, too," she said. "He just cares about himself a bit more."

"That does sum him up," Robin agreed.

"What about the King?" she asked suddenly. "Is he alright?"

"The last I heard, he was healing a lot quicker than you," he teased. "He was barely scratched compared to you. And knowing the King as I do, I shouldn't wonder if he were out with the rest of his men by this afternoon."

"What time is it?" she wondered.

He didn't know. He glanced out the door, judging the light with a practised eye. "I'd say a couple of hours after dawn. Gosh, I've been asleep for more than twelve hours," he realised.

"You probably needed it."

"Probably," he smiled.

Djaq came back then, bearing a container full of water. "Here you are," she said.

"Thank you, Djaq," Marian said.

"You won't thank me in a minute," she said dryly. "I may have just let it slip that you were awake. I think Much has gone to find the others and bring them here."

"That's alright," Marian said. "I need to thank Allan, anyway. For leaving to find you," she clarified.

"Here," Djaq said, holding the water to her lips. "Stop talking and drink."

Marian drank dutifully. No doubt she was parched, not having been able to drink anything for over twenty hours. As soon as she finished, though, they were interrupted by a commotion at the tent entrance. It seemed that Little John, or rather his staff, had had a disagreement with the low entrance, and was hurrying to replace the pole he'd knocked out the way.

"There goes your rest and recuperation," Robin noted.

The entire gang had made its way into the tent, earning sharp looks and glares from various patients and medics. Much kept muttering 'sorry, sorry' as he made his way to the end of the tent. Will and Allan seemed slightly awkward standing next to each other. Little John kept his head bowed now that he had fixed the tent, not wanting to cause any more mishaps.

"Marian! How are you?" Much asked in a hissing whisper.

"I'm fine," she assured him with a smile. "Why so quiet?"

"He got told to keep the noise down last night," Robin told her.

"Yes, well, he looked mean!" Much said defensively.

Everyone laughed. Marian drew in a ragged breath when she tried to join in.

"Are you alright?" Robin and Allan asked at the same time.

"Oh, hush, both of you," she complained. "Is it any surprise that I'm a bit sore?"

Djaq smiled at the sight of the chastened boys, and Will smiled at her.

"I've been meaning to say," Marian continued. "Thank you, Allan. You did the right thing."

"Yeah," he agreed, looking a little shamefaced. "Should've done that a long time ago."

Little John grunted in accordance.

"You're telling us," Will said.

Djaq gave him a little shove.

"Anyway!" Robin said, before anything could get out of hand. "I think we all need to think about when we're going back to England. Or if we're going back to England," he added, looking at Djaq.

She let the comment drop for now, as it was a thought that had crossed her mind, but not one she'd had time to act on or talk about. "I am not letting Marian travel yet," she said. "We are staying here for another week. At least."

Robin nodded.

"I'm coming to Sherwood with you," Marian said forcefully. "Well, the Sheriff and Gisbourne think I'm dead, I suppose. They won't care. And I'd be dead to Gisbourne anyway."

Her blunt statements made Much flinch.

"I'd better make another bed then," Will said, smiling. Marian smiled back.

"Why?" Allan asked. "Don't tell me Djaq's started using her one."

"Allan!" Djaq and Will chorused.

"And anyway," he pressed. "We've got a married couple now. No extra bed needed!"

"ALLAN!"

Marian didn't have the strength to shout like Robin, but she was able to send a glare in Allan's direction that clearly said, "I've knocked you out before and I won't hesitate to do it again as soon as I'm able to move from this bed." This had a worse effect on its recipient than all the shouts combined.

"Someone hasn't changed," Little John muttered.

"Anyway," Marian continued. "I've got nowhere else to go."

"You're staying with me," Robin said in a low voice.

"I should hope so," she retorted.

"But we are not leaving yet," Djaq repeated firmly.

"No," Robin agreed, ever the leader. "We can hardly remain in the King's camp, though." He paused, thinking. "Djaq, could we stay with Bassam? Or would we be too much?"

She shook her head. "I am sure that will be fine. I will visit him today." She smiled. "It will be odd, to be the normal colour for once."

Robin nodded. "If he agrees, then we shall stay with him for a week, and then home. Agreed?"

"I'll say," Much said. "Beds!"

"Food!" Allan added.

"Well said," Much agreed.

Djaq flashed a glance at Robin then. He frowned slightly, then remembered what she had said the night before: _ I need to talk to both of you, too. Don't decide anything until you've spoken to me. _He nodded.

"Right then," Djaq said in a businesslike manner. "I need to change Marian's dressings. Everybody out."

"You trying to get rid of me?" Allan asked.

"Yes," Djaq agreed immediately, causing the others to burst out laughing and tug him away, Will giving Djaq a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving.

"And I suppose it doesn't matter what Robin sees of her now," Allan was heard to mutter as he disappeared. Despite herself, Marian giggled.

"You won't find him funny after a few weeks," Robin said, glaring after his back.

"He was never like this in the castle," Marian said. "It's nice to see him back where he belongs."

All three smiled.

"And have I missed something?" Marian asked Djaq. "Since when have you and Will admitted to each other that you were so obviously in love?"

"Since we thought we had one night to live," Djaq said seriously.

She lifted Marian's loose top to reveal the swathes of bandages underneath, and began peeling them gently off. The bloodstain was perhaps smaller than one would have expected, which was heartening, but Marian still winced when the last few layers left her skin, and the wound still looked angry and raw, and it still made Robin's own blood boil, especially when paired with its match, just slightly to the left, the mark left by Gisbourne's dagger a year ago.

Then he realised that Marian was staring at his face, rather than watching her bloody midriff be revealed, and he tried to smooth out his face. "Sorry."

"We'll deal with Gisbourne later," she said, cutting right through to his innermost thoughts in the way that only she could.

He noted with interest that she no longer used his given name. It had been a bugbear of his before, that she retained the pseudo-affectionate habit, but the change gave him no particular relief. It was a trivial detail.

Djaq sighed. "I don't suppose there is any way of saying this nicely, but I have some bad news for you."

Robin was instantly terrified. Marian was not much better.

"Do not look like that! Marian, you're fine, you are in no danger."

Now she was puzzled. "Then what?"

Djaq paused before answering. "You were badly damaged, when you were hurt. You know that your vital organs were missed. That is true. But there were other parts which were not so lucky."

"What?" Robin asked, slightly desperate, but Marian closed her eyes.

"My womb," she said with certainty.

"Yes," said Djaq.

There was a moment of stillness, of letting the news settle and take root in their hearts and minds.

"Will I ever be able to..."

But Djaq cut across her, unwilling to make her complete the question. "I doubt you will ever conceive. I will not say for certain, because I was certain that you were dead, but I will say that I do not think you will ever bear a child."

"Never," Marian whispered softly. Robin took her hand, and they looked at each other with quiet despair.

Children were one of those things that neither of them ever thought in detail about, not since the days of their own childhood. Both could recall idyllic discussions on top of Locksley Hill, deciding that a girl would be named Kate, for Marian's mother, and a boy would be Robert, for Robin's father. They had argued fiercely about how the girls were to be educated; Marian pointed out that if their brains were as keen as their mother's then they deserved a better education than a boy with Robin's intellect. Since the Holy War, though, they'd never really believed that they would be married, and so they never believed that they would have children. That lack of belief was coming back to spite them now. But Marian had kept the little dream of her sons and daughters playing around Locksley Manor, and Robin had never quite lost the image of Marian holding their firstborn. And a lifetime from now, when they had achieved their happy ending, who was to inherit the estate?

An issue to deal with later, Robin decided. "Is there any other damage?" he asked Djaq.

"Nothing lasting," she said. "Given a month or two you will be back to normal."

Almost, all three silently amended.


	4. Part 1: Chapter 4

Three days later, and Marian was able to walk again. She had progressed from water, to broth, to soft breads and fruits a tiny bit at a time. And she was thoroughly sick of the medical tent. Unfortunately, Djaq agreed with Robin that it was best to keep her out of the sun and resting in order to speed her recovery, and they had refused to leave for Bassam's until she could do so under her own steam, which left her with next to nothing to do besides sewing. There were times, however, when even the smallest distraction would exhaust her, and she would agree with the pair of them, such as the time when the King came to visit. Marian was not one to be impressed by royalty, but she had managed all of two minutes conversation before she had fainted and Robin had insisted he leave.

She remembered the fuss that had been made when Much came in to tell them that His Majesty was coming to visit, and she distinctly remembered Djaq saying that she was not happy with his timing; it was late and Marian needed sleep. Of course, Marian had been averse to such mollycoddling, and insisted that she was fine, and once the King had arrived, Djaq had faded into the background, still slightly uncomfortable with being in the presence of the commander of the English armies, in a battle camp. Her reticence was understandable; after all, it had been upon seeing her face that the man had ordered for them to be executed.

"Robin, Lady Marian," he had greeted them. "I have come to pay a visit to my saviours, and to thank you."

"You're welcome, Your Majesty," Marian had said, smiling courteously.

"I must say I am slightly ashamed, to have been saved by such a beautiful woman," he had remarked jovially.

Marian had bristled, but Robin had stepped in first. "It may interest you to know that Marian has fought with Gisbourne before, under the guise of the Nightwatchman, a persona she created in order to help the poor of Nottinghamshire. She is not just a pretty face."

Upon uttering this, he had winked at her.

"The Nightwatchman?" the King had asked, looking as chastised as it was permissible for royalty to look.

"The people's name for me," Marian explained. "I could hardly ride about distributing food as the Lady Marian. I would have been executed within weeks."

"Indeed," the King had agreed.

Marian had already begun to feel faint from the small exertion required to sustain her feminist pride, but had endeavoured not to show it.

"Anyway," his Majesty had continued with authority. "I came not only to offer you my thanks, but to offer you some slight reward for your troubles."

"That's not necessary, Sire," Robin had said.

"But I wish to do so," the King had ruled. "I thought that perhaps your marriage was rather hastily carried out."

Again, Marian had begun to feel offended where she most probably shouldn't have, but she was tired and ill, and so could be excused. As it was, she had at least managed to keep her tongue still.

"Yes, Sire," Robin agreed dutifully.

"And I thought perhaps that you might wish for a slightly more conventional ceremony," the King had continued. "If you so wish it, I would like to conduct that ceremony."

Upon this latest revelation, Marian once again felt faint, this time from shock. "You wish to marry us?" she had asked in disbelief.

"If you so wish it," the King repeated.

It was at this point that Marian had lost consciousness. Robin hadn't wanted to make a decision without her (he was definitely learning), so the King had had to wait until the following morning to receive a reply.

"The only woman who would dare keep the King waiting," Robin branded her with a grin.

They agreed within seconds to accept the King's offer; they had fought in his name for so long, how could they refuse? And so a whirling maelstrom of activity had come into being, preparing for a wedding that could possibly be the wedding of the century. It was not what Marian and Robin had ever dreamed of, but neither of them wanted to change this in the slightest.

"You know," Marian commented absently. "I can almost begin to be thankful that you went to the Holy Land."

"Now I know your head was affected," Robin laughed.

Perhaps each separate misfortune that had befallen them over the years was difficult to forgive, but both of them found themselves thankful that this chain of events had led them here and now: three days after Marian had been stabbed by her ex-fiancé, she was being married to her childhood love by the King of England.

Marian's dress was made by her own hand, as she had no dress of her own and she wanted to wear a dress in the English style, rather than the Saracen. Much blustered for a while about bad luck until Marian asked him if he was volunteering to make it. Djaq was able to obtain some pale blue silk, paid for by the King, and Marian found her falsified love of embroidery coming into use for once. Djaq was of limited help, but she held the half-finished garment up and pinned it for her, and Little John was surprisingly helpful, being the only married man in the gang and remembering Alice's wedding dress. Robin was forbidden to see it, if only for the sake of Marian's vanity, which didn't stop him trying, ergo Will became the dressmaking group's unofficial watchman. As for Robin's outfit, he was wearing exactly what he had arrived in. Well, at least one of them would be presentable.

The next thing to sort out was the filling of the various roles. The easiest by far to decide on was the Maid of Honour. There was only the worry that a Christian marriage might not be this Maid's choice of event.

"Djaq?" Marian asked when she was having her bandages changed once.

"Yes?"

"Would you consider being my Maid of Honour for the wedding?"

"Of course."

Marian wondered if the wording of her question was the cause for such a quick answer. "Will you?"

"Of course," Djaq repeated.

So that was one person sorted. The next was the Best Man.

Robin had been kicked out of the medical tent to let Marian work on her dress, so he went to find the kitchen area, knowing that this was the most likely place to find his best man. Once he had successfully located the food, he successfully located... an argument between Allan and Much.

"Look, I'm not being funny, but I was trying to save your lives!"

"Yes, but what did they do as soon as you got us out? They started trying to kill us!"

"Me too, if you hadn't noticed!"

"But it was us they were really going to kill!"

"They were really going to kill me too!"

"But why did you come back in the first place?"

"Oh come on guys," Robin interrupted. "I'm getting married tomorrow!"

They jumped, and Much lowered the ladle he'd been brandishing threateningly.

"Sorry," Allan mumbled.

"I should think so," Much muttered self-righteously.

"Not being funny, but you were the one who started it!"

"Oh really! Who was the one who went off to Gisbourne?"

"Stop!" Robin said. "Really, stop it. And forget it for now. Much, can I talk to you?"

"Of course," Much agreed, but Allan remained sullenly there, not taking the hint.

"Allan, what I really meant was could I talk to Much alone," Robin clarified.

"Oh, right, yeah," Allan muttered. "I'll just..."

He stalked off, and Robin sighed. He hoped the tensions would die down sooner rather than later, but he had just managed to successfully make them worse. Never mind.

"Much! I wanted to ask you something," Robin began.

"Mm-hm?" Much asked, now using the ladle for its proper use. "I was just making Marian some stew, but I've cut everything into tiny pieces, and I've left it for longer than I normally would, so everything's really soft—do you think that would be good?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good. Could you take it over?"

"No, they're doing dressmaking, but—"

"Oh yes, I forgot about that. I'll take it over then. You know, I really don't like that place."

"I know, but—"

"But I'm getting over it. I mean, everything's so happy at the moment, and I think that's helping a lot. Plus, there haven't been any major battles in the last few days. I hope there won't be any until we've left."

"Much! Will you please let me talk?"

"Sorry, master?"

"I've told you, call me Robin."

"Oh yes. Sorry, Robin."

"Don't worry. Will you be my best man?"

Having finally managed to complete his question, Robin was met by utter silence. "Much?"

"... say that again?"

Robin smiled. "Will you be my best man?"

Much stared. "I'm... I'm flabbergasted. And I'm... I'd..."

"It's a yes or no question, Much," Robin laughed.

"I'd be honoured," Much said.

After this rather more difficult appointment, there was left only one more to make. Marian needed someone to give her away, and, as with the other roles, there was really only one candidate. So at the same time as Robin and Much hugged and laughed together, Marian spoke up.

"John?"

"Yes?" he replied.

"Well, as you know, my father won't be here tomorrow."

"I know," he said softly, sympathetically.

"And you helped me so much when he... when he passed away. So I was wondering if you would like to give me away?"

For such a feral-looking man, John became quite teary-eyed. "You know, I am actually old enough to be your father. I didn't get married to Alice until I was twenty-five, and I was outlawed when I was in my thirties. Little little John must have been born when I was about thirty-three, I suppose. I'm always a bit late, me." He smiled. "You, I love. Of course I will."

That left Will and Allan to be their official witnesses, something Allan was intensely proud of.

"Never been a witness at a wedding before," he said. "I've witnessed them, but I've never been a witness. And I'm being a witness at your wedding, with the King marrying you! I mean, blimey that's a jump."

Will was quieter upon accepting, but no less heartfelt. He simply nodded at Marian and said "Thank you."

The day before the wedding, Marian received another visitor, this one a stranger.

"Excuse me, my lady," he said in a gently spoken manner. "I've come to resize your ring."

Marian smiled well upon hearing that, for the ring that the King had given her so hastily did not fit at all, and kept slipping off her dainty finger. "How thoughtful of you."

"Pardon?" the man nearly whispered.

Marian glanced at Will, who was currently with her, frowning slightly. "I said 'How thoughtful of you.'" She repeated, a little louder.

"Oh right, sorry. The King sent me, it's him you need to thank."

This time it was Marian who said "Pardon?" for the man had barely murmured the words.

"I said 'the King sent me'," the man said. "Sorry. Because I work in the forge, I get a bit deaf. I don't hear as clear as you."

"Wouldn't you speak louder, if that were the case?" Marian said clearly.

"Well, I did, but it annoyed everyone else. So I've got used to speaking quietly. I guess I've gone too far down the other end."

"Yes, I rather think you have," Marian smiled.

It was amazing how helpful everyone was, considering the almighty fuss that was being foisted upon them to host this wedding. From the swordmaker who so daintily resized a precious ring to the various cooks who prepared what could almost pass for a wedding feast, using up rations to do so, almost every man in the camp was falling over himself to help in some way.

"They're enjoying the break," Robin explained when Marian remarked on it. "So much death, all the time, and now..."

"It's a new beginning for them to celebrate," Marian finished.

"And an excuse to get drunk with permission," he added.

Not everyone was so nice. There were those who viewed Djaq with an air of suspicion, those who were scared of her and those who were angry that she should be welcomed as a guest. Then there were those upper class nobles who did not want to celebrate the nuptials of outlaws, whoever they might have been before their crimes. And then there were those who were close to madness, who could not see the point in any new beginnings when the only inevitability was the end. Still, they were in the minority, and for the most part they were ignored.

At last came the day of the wedding. Marian rose early, unreasonably excited, and dressed in her newly finished gown. Djaq, staying in the medical tent with her, dressed in the formal wear of her own people, and Will could not take his eyes from her, she was pleased to note. Robin rose slightly late, not having managed much sleep the night before, unreasonably nervous. Much did nothing to help matters, wittering away with such enthusiasm that Robin could not help but wish for a brief moment that he had chosen Will to be his best man. Little John made his way to the medical tent to fetch Marian, and Allan swore that he had seen the older man try to comb his hair.

It was like a daydream. The soldiers assembled in the clearing surrounded by tents, the King stood at the head of the crowd, facing the hospital, and Robin and Much stood before him, nervously facing away. Will and Allan stood respectfully off to one side, and then, when a man peeped around the tent entrance and whispered, "they're ready!" the bride made her way out to her wedding.

Every step that Marian took felt like a triumph. So many things dictated that she should not be here, marrying Robin, but she was. And somehow, though she had dreamed of a very different setting when she was first engaged to Robin of Locksley, she felt as though everything had fallen into place. This felt like the end of a very troubled tale, though she knew that it was barely the beginning. And when John placed her hand in Robin's, she thought that she needn't have been stabbed. Surely she was going to die now, of bliss.

But of course she didn't, and the young couple tore their eyes from each other to kneel on a spare piece of material that someone had thoughtfully spread out to save Marian's dress from the sand. The King stepped forward.

"Before we begin proceedings," he announced. "I should like to offer a full pardon to Robin, Lord of Locksley and Earl of Huntingdon, to Lady Marian of Knighton and Locksley, to Will Scarlett of Locksley, to Allan-a-Dale of Locksley, to John Little of Locksley, to Saffiyah, known as Djaq, of Sherwood, and to Much, Earl of Bonchurch."

The little squeak behind him told Robin that Much had not been expecting that, and his smile grew impossibly larger. He hoped that Djaq didn't mind her home being named as Sherwood, but the King could not pardon her if she were not a citizen of England, and it was the most fitting place that there was. He hoped, too, that Allan didn't mind his home being named as Locksley, because he honestly didn't have a clue where the man came from. It changed every week. He wasn't even sure if his full name hadn't been invented on the spur of the moment in the dungeons of Nottingham castle.

Then began the ceremony, in a tradition seen so many thousands of times, and a way seen never before.

The wedding was being held in the open air in the middle of an army camp. The guests were battle weary soldiers. The Maid of Honour was a Saracen. The best man had spent most of his life as a manservant. The witnesses were newly pardoned outlaws. The officiator was the King of England. The bridegroom was the most wanted man in England. The bride would have been the most wanted woman in England had she been believed to be alive. All in all, it was not the most conventional of weddings, but it was perfect.

* * *

_A/N: End of Part 1. There will be a Part 2, but I'm in the middle of my worst exam week, and I could not justify writing more. That's why I've posted, to give me a little sense of closure, so I could focus on revision, or at the very least the stories that I started months ago! So if you have an idea about where you want this story to go, tell me and I might put it in. If not, I hope you enjoyed Part 1!_


	5. Interlude

_A/N: Because there are other characters who are still alive, too... Welcome to the first interlude._

* * *

In the only cabin that had been left to hire out of a sturdy little merchant vessel, two men lay in a resentful silence.

The Sheriff of Nottingham had immediately claimed the bed. He was of higher rank and status, and he hadn't been a blithering idiot two feet away from the King but hadn't bloody well killed him, because he managed to get the girl instead. Really, Gisbourne, were you blind?

Guy of Gisbourne lay on the floor. He had only one blanket with which to cover himself, for they had left the Holy Lands in something of a hurry, and the creaking floor was not only too hard to let him sleep, but loud enough that it made the Sheriff complain, which meant that Guy most certainly could not sleep. Though had he been in a bed stuffed with goose feathers in the finest palace of England, he would not have slept. Guilt does that to a man.

This latter unfortunate made the mistake of rolling onto his side in a vain attempt to try and get comfortable.

"Gisbourne!" the Sheriff snapped. "Stop moving! There are some of us who actually wouldn't mind getting a little shut-eye. Oaf," he muttered.

"Yes, my lord," came the dreary response.

There were those who would say Guy of Gisbourne had no feelings at all. There were those who would declare that he could never betray any emotion other than hatred. And there were those who would claim that a man with a heart such as his could not sink further into darkness, for he was the lowest creature that a man could be already.

They had all been wrong. Guy of Gisbourne had feelings much as any man did. He was simply better practiced at concealing them, and occasionally at pretending they did not exist at all. He betrayed many emotions other than hatred, and one woman had seen them all. And whatever the state of Gisbourne's heart, he was sinking further and further into the most profound blackness he had ever dreamed of, and in his own mind he had only just become the lowest creature that a man could be.

Anybody who had the misfortune to encounter Guy in these few days following Marian's death saw that the man was utterly wretched. Most would have felt sympathy for him, assuming that he had lost someone dear to him. The Sheriff was merely annoyed.

"Oh for goodness' sakes, Gisbourne, would you perk up a bit! Who cares if you killed her?"

Robin Hood? The people of Knighton, of most of Nottinghamshire? Guy of Gisbourne? Guy could not answer with any of these responses.

"I don't know why on earth you're so down in the mouth about it. She was just a girl, Gisbourne, just another leper. She's infecting you even now! And what did she ever achieve that made her so special, hm? She was nothing."

Normally, Gisbourne would agree, at least out loud. Normally, he would ignore the Sheriff's callous remarks. But if there was one thing true of Sir Guy of Gisbourne, it was that he would do almost anything for the Lady Marian. And now that she was dead and he could do nothing for her herself, he would do almost anything to save her memory from this vile besmirching.

"She achieved more than you'll ever know," he said quietly.

"Oh really. A clue: no," the Sheriff scoffed.

"Yes!" exclaimed Guy. "She defied you ever since you came to power. She worked against you from the moment you called yourself Sherriff! And you never once figured that out!"

"Stop being so melodramatic, you idiot. She spoke up against me a few times, I had her punished. She tried to kill me, I had her imprisoned and brought to the Holy Land to her death. I think I had her 'figured out' pretty well."

"She was the Night Watchman. Now who's the idiot?"

"_What?_"

"She was the—"

"Yes, I heard what you said," the Sheriff raged. "My ears work perfectly well, thank you. And I don't believe you."

"We had her imprisoned," Guy reminded him, enjoying this slightly more than perhaps he should have.

"And you didn't think that she might be lying when she confessed? Trying to save someone else's skin? She's a woman, Gisbourne, that's what they do!"

He laughed, though it was a hollow, dead sound. "She didn't confess. I caught her. I forced her to show me the scars I had inflicted on the Night Watchman. I told you that we could execute the Night Watchman. And then I had my man act as a decoy to save her."

"You did _what_?" the Sheriff exploded. "You let the Night Watchman go free?"

Guy found himself utterly crushed. It was so typical of the Sheriff, to see only the side of the story that mattered to him. He did not see the romance of the forgiveness Guy had bestowed upon Marian, he did not the bravery and cunning that Marian had displayed throughout the past six years, since she was just a child of fifteen and the first sightings of the Night Watchman had been reported. He only saw the eternal story of Nottingham: the criminal had been caught and then escaped.

"Yes. I let Marian go free. She promised never to betray me again."

"You absolute dunderhead! You clay-brained fool-born dunce! Never betray you again? _She tried to kill me! She was off with Robin Hood when we caught up with her!"_

"I know!"

And now Guy really did feel like an idiot. She had misused him for so long, and so many times, but he still loved her. Yet that was the crux of the matter: he loved her. Even now, he loved her. If she had betrayed him, well, he had betrayed her. He had killed her, in the end. They were on equal footing now; he could love her entirely in death.

"Well," the Sheriff said thoughtfully. "Actually, this isn't too bad. If we didn't get the King, at least we got the Night Watchman. Well done, Gisbourne."

He was a madman, Guy thought. To be so mercurial in his moods, he had to be utterly mad.

The lunatic in question yawned, cracking his jaws in a way that made Guy grimace. Evidently the Sheriff would not let anything bother his sleep. Nevertheless, after a few minutes of silence, the Sheriff spoke up again.

"So why did you kill her?"

"Why would you care?" was Guy's bitter reply.

"Curiosity."

Well, God forbid that the Sheriff should care. And what point would there be in a lie?

"She told me she loved Robin Hood."

The Sheriff rolled on to his side to look at the murderer on the ground. "And you, the little jealous fiancé just had to go and kill her. I'm impressed, I didn't think you had it in you."

"Fiancé?"

"The last I heard, you were going to marry her. Remember?"

"The last I heard, she was engaged to an outlaw," Gisbourne admitted dully.

There was a brief moment where one could almost hear the Sheriff's brain buzzing like a bee with this new piece of information. His next question threw Guy almost totally off balance.

"When was the last time Robin Hood killed my men?"

Guy frowned. "When we followed the physician to their camp at the cave."

"And where was Marian at this point?"

"At home, with her father. She was seriously ill; I was worried—"

"Seriously ill. Idiot!" the Sheriff cursed.

"My Lord?"

"Haven't you got it yet, imbecile? Go on then, tell me, at around about the same time, or maybe a day or two before, what happened with you and the Night Watchman?"

Realisation began to strike. "He—she—robbed me. I stabbed her. She showed me the scar..."

"And then we followed a _physician_ to Robin Hood's camp! A physician who Hood didn't bother to watch carefully enough to stop him leaving a trail! A physician he was desperate to get to treat _someone_! _Someone_ who must have been close to death! _And then he started killing my men_!"

"Marian," Guy breathed.

"Exactly! And now she's _dead_! He's going to be on the murderous rampage now! _You've just sentenced us to death, Gisbourne_!"

"No..."

And suddenly, the Sheriff cackled. "No. You've just sentenced _yourself_ to death. He won't kill me, because Nottingham will get razed to the ground. You, however, he'll kill as soon as he gets a clean shot."

The horrifying thing was that Gisbourne was almost past caring.

"Ah well," the Sheriff sighed. "It was nice knowing you. You were useful, sometimes, even if you were more bird-brained than my canaries."

If he was going to die anyway... "Well, I can't imagine the Black Knights will be too happy with you. You failed to kill the King."

"See, this is what I mean! You don't think I told them where we were going, did you? You don't think I opened myself up for criticism like that, did you? A clue: of course not!"

No, of course not. This plan had been like all his plans; the only men privy to it were both here in this salty cabin, and only if it worked would the Sheriff announce it to the world and take all the credit for it. If it failed, it would remain a secret between the Sheriff and Gisbourne, and the latter would take all the blame.

"You know what you are, Gisbourne? An apprentice. One of those bumbling apprentices who never seems to learn enough to be able to do the job on their own. A blundering child, who gets everything wrong, but it doesn't matter, because the craftsman is always there." A regretful smack of the lips and another sigh. "I suppose I'll have to find a new apprentice soon."

The answer came almost without thought. "Not if I kill Hood first."

The Sheriff snorted. "Good luck with that."

With that, the conversation was ended because Guy no longer cared to answer. He was considering his own words with a slow-growing fire that would eventually flame into a revenge best served hot.

So Marian and Hood had loved each other, had they? Well then, killing him would almost be merciful to them both. No, to all three of them. Hood would want to die; that had been proved a year ago, the first time that Gisbourne had stabbed Marian. Gisbourne wanted Hood dead, and had done ever since Robin had taken over the lands that should rightfully have been his, back when they were both children. The fight would be the best part. He did not believe the Sheriff when he said that Hood would shoot him at the first chance; he thought Hood would give in to the glory of a swordfight. He always had been one for glamour. Guy would see the look in his eyes as he killed him, and kill him he would. He had bested him in a duel before, and Hood would not wait to rest after travelling to England. He would be days or weeks behind the Sheriff and Gisbourne, and he would have little to eat on the way back to Nottingham, and next to no rest. Being an outlaw would serve to see that. So Gisbourne would kill him, and love doing so. After all, he would be doing the last service he could for Marian. He could give Marian her lover in death, and surely this would be the best way to assuage his guilt. If Hood ended up in hell rather than in heaven with her, then that wasn't his fault.

Guy wasted little thought on what would happen after that final battle. He never did think past the next corner; he only ever had two aims in life. One was to better himself, and the other was to marry Marian. Now that he could not achieve the second, and he had lost all hope of achieving the first in the face of his heinous crime, he lost all purpose. This next murder therefore became his purpose. It was the best solution, he told himself.

As he drifted off to sleep for the first time in a week, Sir Guy of Gisbourne had one last thought.

_Surely Marian would love him for this._

* * *

_A/N: I've written chapter one of part 2, which will again be another four chapters posted together. Until then, enjoy the s3 finale!_


	6. Part 2: Chapter 1

After the wedding, the heat of the sun seemed to permeate the minds and bodies of the young lovers, spreading a warmth through them that neither was a stranger to, but neither had allowed themselves to feel so completely before. They were no longer hiding their love in any way, from anyone. Everyone within a mile knew that they were married. Everyone within a mile knew their names, and still no one within a mile wanted them dead. It was a strange feeling, to be completely accepted, to be completely open, to be in love and unafraid. However temporary the sensation was, they both relished it while it lasted.

As is always the way at weddings, the bride and groom found themselves separated to be passed around the celebrating crowd, Robin greeting old friends who he had fought alongside, and Marian smiling upon all those who wished to hear of the famous lost sweetheart of their old brother-at-arms. Robin found this a stranger process than Marian, unable to quite connect his old and new selves together. It felt so strangely right that the Holy Land, which had tried so hard to destroy their relationship, now acted as the stage to bring them together for once and for all.

Marian found the experience slightly wearing. She would never approve of killing, no matter the cause, and she found it hard to look at these men and forget that they were still here, still killing. Whenever she caught sight of Djaq, she wondered how the Saracen maiden could stand to be here. Nevertheless, she knew that Robin and Much had been like these soldiers, once upon a nightmare, and she tried not to let any of her instinctive hesitation show. The other, rather annoying feeling was a sense that she was back at court, trying to appear as something she wasn't. Though the men knew she had saved the King's life, they did not know how far she had worked to save England. She found herself explaining again and again her role as the Night Watchman, and eventually she gave up and fell back on her training as a lady of the nobility to smile on her audience and appear as she should: the beautiful bride. It was not a difficult role to fulfil.

Slightly aside from the rest of the proceedings, Much, Will, Djaq, John and Allan were all standing together, watching the celebrations begin with a sense of nostalgia that didn't make sense, bearing in mind how new everything was.

"It feels like they've been engaged forever," Much sighed.

"Not being funny, but they have!" Allan said. "How old were they when he proposed? For the first time, I mean."

"She was fifteen, he was nineteen," Much said, still watching Robin catching up with yet another friend from years ago.

"About bloody time, then," Allan said.

"Mm," Djaq said absently. "I don't think they were ready, before."

"No," Will agreed. "Maybe they'll cut the fighting now."

"They won't," John said with certainty.

Much sighed again.

The next trial to overcome was the wedding feast. Robin and Marian were seated either side of the King at a table which had been constructed from whatever bits of wood could be spared. Most men were standing around with a bowl and a spoon, and Will and Djaq had disappeared, trying to keep Djaq out of the way of increasingly drunk Christian Englishmen. It was less than glamorous, though King Richard seemed immune to this, lending a regal air to the proceedings. Much, Allan and John were all given seats, but John remained stubbornly silent, as was his way, Much was cowed into an awed silence by the presence of royalty, and Allan was also uncharacteristically quiet, trying not to offend anyone. He figured, correctly, that he was less likely to offend if he said nothing at all. The meal, too, was less than perfect, the inevitable goat meat being rather stringy and the broth watery. Marian was not displeased at having to avoid anything solid. But the hardest thing was yet again being separated. Only once had they been able to spend more than a few snatched minutes together in over half a decade, and that time they had been living in the forest and surrounded by four other outlaws almost every second of every day. Now that the last legal barrier had been removed, they were still separated by the very embodiment of the law. The polite conversation that ensued, diplomatically correct to a fault, was stifling when all they wanted was to be alone for once.

Finally, the last spoon was set down and the last cup drained. The sun had not yet set, but it was threatening to touch the hazy horizon, and nobody wanted to be outside during the freezing night. English blood was not suited to such rapid changes in temperature.

"Gentlemen!" the King called with the self-assurance of a born leader. Sure enough, everyone stood, and everyone fell silent. "Ladies," he added. "Our celebrations draw to an end on this most triumphant of days. Tomorrow we must return to our Crusade. But let it be remembered that we work for peace, and we work to ensure that all of you may return to fair England, to be wed to your loves, who will be safe from the heretics!"

Robin and Marian exchanged a glance behind their monarch's back.

"Business as usual tomorrow morning," King Richard finished. He turned away from the congregation at large, who began to drift away, and spoke now to the newlyweds alone. "God give you joy," he blessed them.

"Sire," Robin said seriously. "Will you not return to England? The situation there—"

"Is not grave enough to merit my return from a Holy War," the King ruled. "We must finish this battle first. England is safe for now; the Holy Lands are not."

"Your Majesty," Marian began, but he interrupted her.

"Lady Locksley, you may be an extraordinary woman, and you may have played your part in the politics of Nottinghamshire, but you are a woman and as such should leave world politics to the menfolk whom God has chosen to rule this earth."

Only Robin's hand, brushing unobtrusively against hers, prevented Marian from answering back.

"Goodnight, Your Majesty," Robin said before Marian could have their pardons revoked.

The King nodded and left them, retreating to his tent with a dignity that would have been impressive had not Marian been seething with rage.

"He hasn't even seen it!" she whispered fiercely. "If he saw what is happening—"

"He wouldn't change his mind," Robin finished. "He is a great leader, but he does not change direction."

"Men!" Marian exclaimed. "Why must you always be so stubborn?"

"Well, I can think of a couple of women who have that trait in abundance," Robin reminded her. "One of whom is forgetting that this is our wedding day, and should not be about world politics at all."

"You started it," she retorted, but she was smiling.

"Yes, I did," Robin concurred. He caught the hand he was still gently caressing and brought it to his lips. "And now I'm finishing it."

Marian shivered ever so slightly when he kissed her hand with no more force than a butterfly's wings, never dropping her gaze.

"Will's organised a tent for us," he said softly.

Her eyes widened a little then. "Robin, I can't—"

She couldn't complete the sentence. Marian was a noblewoman by birth and a girl by experience. Such topics were not ones that she was able to discuss out loud, not yet, but she had to convey that she would not be able to do... that... tonight. She cursed her own breeding as she struggled for words.

"I know!" he reassured her. "Do you think I would let you do anything that might hurt you?"

She had to concede that he had a point. He had spent every second since she had awoken being unbearably overprotective.

"Just stay with me," he said. "Exactly like we've done before."

They both turned their thoughts to nights of borrowed time in the forest, and in particular to that first night. Marian's father had only just passed away; she had needed someone to be there for her. Robin had been only too happy to oblige.

Marian smiled at the bittersweet memory. "Come along then, husband."

His answering grin was impossibly wide, boyish, and completely at odds with the mature, domesticated connotations of the word.

Together, they made their way to a tiny tent, adjacent to the one where the other outlaws were sleeping. A threadbare rug covered the floor, a collection of blankets folded neatly for their bed. A single candle had been placed near the corner, its flame flickering as Robin let the tent door flap back into position. He started unfolding the sheets and laying them out, whereupon Marian laughed.

"What?" he asked, bemused.

"You!" she replied. "You're being a veritable housewife! I should get injured more often."

He straightened up. "You really shouldn't."

Despite herself, she smiled again. "Don't worry. I'm not planning to."

They kissed, a slow embrace of gentleness and love, so unlike those snatched seconds they had in the forest where they were always desperately trying to forget that they had to part. And when their lips parted, they didn't have to back away or turn their minds to less pleasant things; they could kiss again, and Marian's arms could twine round his neck, and Robin could entangle his fingers in her hair, and they needed not worry about anything. Whispered words interspersed their kisses, and murmured promises of love filled their ears and minds and hearts, and caused them to move closer again.

"This is..." Marian began, but she didn't know how to end the sentence.

"Magical? Perfect?" he suggested.

"Well, yes, but I was more thinking bizarre."

"How so?"

He sounded affronted, and it took her a moment to rationalise her statement in her own head. "For one thing, we're not arguing. And we're not hiding. And we have all night. And we're actually married! I can't... quite..."

"It is bizarre, now you mention it." He smirked. "You're not telling me off for something or another."

She raised an eyebrow threateningly. "Don't make me start."

Instead, he chuckled and kissed her forehead. "Now that's more normal."

It was then that Marian did something that was most definitely not normal. She untwined her arms and moved her hands over Robin's back, stroking his well-defined muscles through the thin green material, until she reached the shirt's end. Then she let one hand find its way underneath the offending garment, and felt the shudder that rippled through him with her own fingertips.

"Marian."

Her name from his lips was a mere breath.

"Robin?" she smiled mischievously.

"You are a little minx," he accused her.

"Perhaps," she said lightly.

Nevertheless, he was the one who removed his shirt to let her run her hands over his body. She lingered at his scar, the unsightly blemish that had indirectly brought him back to her, and she kissed another faded wound, the one she had stitched up over a year ago.

Robin's hands fluttered over Marian, unsure whether he could touch her at all without hurting her somehow. She read his actions as easily as she read his eyes.

"I'm not that fragile," she protested softly.

"You are," he argued.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I'll stop you if you hurt me."

Still, he hesitated.

"Trust me," she implored him.

"With my life," he replied. "But not with yours."

"Robin," she complained.

"Sorry," he replied, smiling just a little. "But put yourself in my position. I watched you die for the second time four days ago. The second time! You've not exactly got a brilliant track record, have you?"

This time she did roll her eyes. "I'm still alive!"

"Only just!" he retorted in a murmur.

"That's not the point!" she argued. "The point is that we can't just stop living. Either you or I could die tomorrow, and we both know that. The past doesn't change anything—I'm not more likely to die because I was unlucky before."

He sighed. Marian saw that she was not winning this argument any time soon, and decided to take matters into her own hands.

"Help me take this off," she said, turning away from him and lifting her hair to let him reach the ties on her dress. When she didn't feel him begin the delicate task, she said, "Well, I can't sleep in this dress, can I?"

He could not argue with that, as she had known he could not, and so he untied the elaborate bow below the nape of her neck, letting the fabric loosen and cascade to the ground in a white waterfall so she could step out of the garment. She was now dressed only in a shift, and she was a little surprised that she did not feel more self-conscious. She folded her dress neatly and placed it on a corner of the rug before turning back to Robin. It was then that she began to feel self-conscious.

Robin was staring at her with unmasked desire in his eyes, his face still serious but stirred. The force of his gaze made her blush, but the resulting stain of blood below skin did not stop at her cheeks. It spread across her neck, painting even the gap between her collarbones a delicate shade of crimson, marking her blush as anything but innocent. For as he stared at her, she stared at him, seeing as if for the first time the white skin of his chest next to the brown of his face and hands, watching his ribs expand with every inhalation, knowing that she was the reason those breaths were coming a little too fast.

He was the one who closed the small space between them, and this time he did place his hands on her shoulders and stroked smoothly downwards as her fingers explored him again. This time when he kissed her, he held her close to him, and this time when she encouraged his fingertips to move to the skin revealed by her low-cut undergarment, he did not resist.


	7. Part 2: Chapter 2

As the sun rose over the battle camp and Marian's eyes fluttered open, she was greeted by the sight of Robin watching her, already wide awake. They were lying together, Marian on her back to avoid irritating her wound and Robin on his side so as to better see her face.

"Good morning," he said softly.

"Good morning," she murmured. It took her a moment or two to remember where she was and why she was there, but when she did, she smiled.

"How are you?" he asked.

She conquered the urge to laugh at him with great difficulty. "I'm fine, Robin. Stop worrying."

"You're my wife now," he reminded her. "I'm allowed to worry about you as much as I like."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," she countered, but she couldn't resist smiling and so betraying her teasing.

They got up and dressed—someone, most likely Djaq, had been considerate enough to put a less elaborate dress in the tent for Marian—lingering over the task. She couldn't stretch enough to pull the garment over her head, so Robin had to help her, and she tried not to shiver when his fingers brushed over her back. Marian pulled her fingers through her hair, not having a comb or any ribbons with which to tie it back, and Robin pronounced her as beautiful.

"You are a little biased," she said.

They made their way out of the tent and headed over to where the kitchen area seemed to be. The other members of the gang were already convened there, already eating a thin gruel for breakfast.

"Good morning!" Robin said as he ladled out some gruel for himself and Marian.

Everyone chorused the same back.

"You sound cheerful," Allan said slyly.

"And why wouldn't I be?" Robin retorted gaily.

Allan could not find an answer to that. Not in the presence of a lady, at least.

"When are we leaving for Bassam's?" Marian asked abruptly, before the conversation could stray into areas that she would rather were not explored.

"Whenever you want," Djaq said. "He is expecting us at any time today."

Djaq had taken some time during the past week to visit her uncle and ensure that he would not mind the gang staying at his house for a few days. Due to the delay of the wedding, Marian was almost in travelling condition, but Djaq was taking no chances, especially with the growing temptation of staying in the country. Will had not liked the idea of letting her go off alone, but she pointed out that she was not a minority here. In fact, she was in absolutely no danger for once.

"Will we be safe, just walking through Acre in broad daylight?" asked Much.

"I think so," Djaq replied. "Still, I think it would be better if you wore native clothing. Marian, you should wear a veil. Then we can blend into the crowd."

John looked vaguely incredulous at this idea. "That, I do not think will work."

"It will," Djaq said with certainty.

"Is there a back-up plan?" Allan asked.

"Not really," Robin admitted. "We could let Marian and Djaq go on ahead, and then we can go at night, but I'd rather not."

"I prefer the first plan," Will decided.

"You would," muttered Much.

"We'll need to inform the King of our departure," Robin said.

And so they found themselves once again begging an audience with King Richard. He, however, was in the middle of planning an attack on a neighbouring town, and could not spare any more than a few minutes.

"Godspeed your journey," he said grandly to the assembled gang of not-quite outlaws.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Robin said.

No one else was inclined to address him at all.

"And I shall return," Richard continued. "When all is safe here and I can come home to England safe in the knowledge that there is peace in the Holy Lands."

"But this war has been going on for years already!" Much said.

"Therefore it cannot go on much longer," the King said smoothly.

Robin and Much exchanged a glance, but said nothing.

"Funds for your journey," he continued, nodding at an orderly who gave Robin a bulging purse. "May God be with you," he finished.

"And with you, Sire," Robin said courteously. With that, they left.

"That is a hell of a lot of money," Allan said once outside.

"You can say that again," said John.

"That is a hell of a—"

"Alright, we get the idea," Robin said.

"I say we spend as little as possible and give it out when we're back home," John volunteered.

"Agreed," Marian said.

"But we can try and get better berths than we did coming?" Much asked.

"We were in with the cargo for a while," Djaq explained to Marian.

"Oh, go on then," Robin said. "If only because I want Marian to have somewhere decent to sleep."

She rolled her eyes indulgently but didn't argue. She, too, had been left with the cargo on the journey out, and had no desire to repeat the experience.

Back at their tents, they changed into some native garb. In the smaller tent, Djaq checked Marian's bandages once again and helped her adjust a veil, and in the larger, the men laughed at John in a bright blue tunic.

"This will not help me blend in," he grumbled.

"Suits you, though," Allan said with an entirely straight face.

It hadn't taken him long to slip back into his old role as the camp joker, which was part of Allan's charm. Still, Will in particular treated every joke with a little suspicion. John grunted, and Robin laughed. There wasn't much that could spoil his mood right now.

For hopefully the last time, they walked out of the battle camp. At least, they tried.

"Oi! You! What are you doing?"

The person calling was a soldier of middling rank. He ran up to them with sword drawn and ready, no doubt worried by the weapons they all still carried. Even Marian and Djaq were armed, though their knives were hidden under their billowing sleeves.

"Hold, friend!" Robin called. "We're English. We're leaving for the port."

The man skidded to a halt as he saw their faces. "Oh. Lord Locksley, Lord Bonchurch. I'm sorry."

"No harm done," Robin said. "You should be congratulated on your vigilance."

"Thank you, sir," the soldier said. "Um, have a good journey."

"Thank you," Much said loftily.

Djaq giggled.

The man scarpered, and Much rounded on Djaq. "What's so funny? I am a Lord now."

"We know," John said shortly.

"Yeah, you only said it about twenty three times last night," Allan added.

Much continued to grumble as they made their way into Acre, until Robin finally took pity on those who really were getting sick of it and told him to stop speaking English in case it gave them away.

"_Shukran_," Djaq said. _Thank you._

"'_Afwan_," he replied. _You're welcome._

Walking through a bustling Muslim town, active before the sun reached its zenith, was a bizarre experience for all concerned. Djaq found it odd to be back in the town where she had spent much of her childhood, especially bearing in mind her companions. She navigated the streets with ease, muttering "_alma'derah_" as she passed through the thronging streets and wondering if anything had changed here at all. John felt incredibly conspicuous, and kept his head down even as Will couldn't tear his eyes from the exotic architecture, the light stone buildings which were so beautiful when compared to the wooden huts that he was used to. Allan watched the people, and told himself that he was stupid for not even thinking that they'd be exactly the same as the English, though they all seemed to be a lot richer. How else could they afford all these brightly coloured clothes? And hang about, weren't the Muslims supposed to be really depressing sort of people? Didn't look like that to him, as he walked past a stall selling spices which smelt so pungent they made his head spin, and so vibrant that he didn't know why they ate them. Much had, of course, been here before, and he did not like repeating the experience. The whole country held so many bad memories for him. He barely bothered looking around, just wondering how long it was to Bassam's and wishing he could ask. It all looked so different in the daylight. Robin was not quite as haunted as his friend, and he enjoyed listening to the constant stream of Arabic, picking up words and phrases he knew and trying to patch them into context. He was also listening out intently for anyone who noticed them at all, but so far it seemed no one had. Too often, though, he heard the words for "died" and "soldiers" and "war" and he felt ashamed that he had once been part of it. Marian, like Allan, watched the people, seeing little children playing in the streets, people bartering for food and noticing that although there seemed to be hundreds of people out and about, none of them stopped. They were all moving with purpose, not wanting to tarry outdoors for too long. It reminded her of people in Nottingham nowadays when there were guards around.

The heat was beginning to become irritating again. John, with his ragged mane of greying hair and large frame was beginning to sweat, and for once Marian did not relish the privacy her covered face lent her. On the contrary, Robin, Will and Allan were all grateful for their loose Arabic clothing. Much was not so keen on wearing something so blatantly un-Christian. It made him feel a bit guilty, though he didn't know why.

There was one moment where Djaq felt her heart flip over. A woman turned around directly in front of her as she once again said "excuse me," and she stopped in her tracks.

"_Na'am_?" the woman asked.

"_Walu_," Djaq replied swiftly, and moved on. _Nothing_.

Robin picked up on her moment's hesitation. "Who was that?" he asked her in Arabic.

"Muhsina," she replied. "She used to be my best friend. She didn't recognise me."

He nodded. "It must be hard for you," he commented.

"Not hard," she countered. "Just... strange. It doesn't feel like home anymore."

"I sometimes wonder if it'll be like that when I live in Locksley manor again," he said. "With a soft bed, and a roof over my head, and servants! And even though I had all that before, I can't imagine it now."

"It's the same for me," Djaq said. "And now we are completely different people."

Finally, they turned onto the path leading up to Bassam's house, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief that they had not been discovered though some were more obvious than others. Djaq knocked on her uncle's door and a serving girl answered.

"_Al anesah Safiyyah_!" the girl said in surprise. _Miss Safiyyah!_

"_Sabah el kheer, Najwa_," Djaq replied. _Good morning, Najwa._

Najwa stepped back to let them in, staring at the Englishmen with unashamed curiosity. Will shifted a little under her inquisitive gaze.

Bassam entered the hallway then, having heard Najwa's cry.

"'_Amm Bassam_," Djaq said respectfully. _Uncle Bassam._

"_Bent al akh Safiyyah_," he smiled. _Niece Safiyyah._ "_Salam_," he said to the group at large. "I am glad to see you alive," he said, switching to English.

"Thank you," Robin said.

"And indeed, you seem to have one who I did not see a week ago," Bassam noted. "May I assume this is Lady Locksley?"

"_Assayed_ Bassam, may I introduce my wife, Lady Marian," Robin said proudly.

Marian removed her veil, wondering if Robin would ever grow tired of saying that, and curtsied slightly.

"Congratulations," Bassam smiled. "Safiyyah told me of your wedding. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Marian."

"And you, sir," she replied politely.

"I am sure you would like to rest before lunch," he said. "Najwa will take you to your rooms."

The girl, who had been hovering awkwardly by the door, snapped to attention at the mention of her name. Bassam repeated the instruction in Arabic for her, and she murmured "_Na'am, si'di_," before beckoning to the group to follow her.

They made their way past a hall with a decorative pool which made Marian widen her eyes in awe, up a stone staircase and down another corridor.

"It's like a palace," Marian exclaimed. "I didn't know you came from such a rich family, Djaq!"

"When I first saw Robin, I didn't think he was noble born either," Djaq said.

Najwa stopped outside a door and muttered something.

"Two of the men can sleep in here," Djaq translated. "Will and Allan?"

Robin concealed a smile as he saw what she was doing. Will was the most suspicious of Allan, having been the closest to him before, but he would not say no to Djaq. Allan would relish the chance to regain what had been lost between them. Sure enough, Allan opened the door, and though Will looked troubled, he followed the other man in without question.

At the door opposite, Djaq told them that this was her room.

"So you know where I am," she said.

"Right next to Will?" said Much

"Don't start," she warned him.

Najwa said something else to Djaq, who answered dismissively, and the girl hurried off with one last incredulous glance. Though of course she had heard her employer's discussions with his niece, she had believed that perhaps the spymasters' plans had yet to come to fruition. But here they all were, alive and well. She would never give up the malice she bore all Englishmen, but she was not fool enough to fight these, who had evidently defeated so many. As things stood she would let them go, though with less than good grace.

"Much, John, you are here," she said, leading them to the next door along. "And Robin and Marian, you are here." She indicated the door opposite as John and Much entered their chamber with a mixture of suspicion and awe.

"Thank you," Marian said. She paused. "Is it strange, with Bassam calling you Safiyyah?"

Robin must have told Marian her story. "Yes. I haven't been called Safiyyah for a very long time. But maybe I will get used to it."

She left, retreating to the room she had used back when she was Safiyyah as Robin held the door to a richly furnished guest room open for Marian.

"Do you think she'll want to stay here?" Marian asked.

"I don't know," he said.


	8. Part 2: Chapter 3

Djaq found being back home again a bizarre experience.

She had last left the country of her birth with freshly shorn hair and freshly boiled grief, her brother having been killed before her hidden eyes only days before. She had taken his name and his sword as she knelt by his empty body, and vowed that he would live on, through her.

Her grief and her stormy transition from headstrong maiden to hard-tempered boy she connected not with her homeland but with her journey to England. It was then that she stopped automatically referring to herself as Safiyyah and replaced the name in her own heart and mind with Djaq. She helped her fellow slaves as much as she could, calling herself a physician's apprentice rather than a physician's daughter, and found that it was incredibly easy to pass for a boy. Safiyyah might have mourned that, maybe taking a blow to her feminine pride.

Djaq was proud and thankful.

In England there had been no question of who she was: she was Djaq through and through. And yet she was not a mere replica of her brother; she was her own person. It didn't even matter whether she was girl or boy most of the time, and she used that ambiguity to its fullest extent. It made Allan, at least, treat her with a respect he would never have shown the others simply because he didn't know how to tease her.

Later, she had allowed a more overtly feminine side to show through. She grew her hair, though not so long that it became impractical, and stopped trying to hide her curves. Partly this was a covert way of hinting to Will, but mostly it felt a natural progression, like growing from a child into an adult. Still she was never tempted to revert to her old name; Safiyyah belonged to a different life. Some people in the villages even began to assume that Djaq was a feminine name in her language, and that suited its owner just fine. The people of Nottinghamshire got used to the odd little Saracen woman to the point where to some she was just another member of Robin Hood's gang.

Now, she was odd again.

On her first day at Bassam's she rejoiced to be back in a land where it was possible to feel hot, where the food was spiced and flavoursome, where she was not the only one who worshipped Allah, shunned alcohol and avoided pork. She loved hearing the call to prayer as men walked the streets chanting in her elegant mother tongue and she loved the perfumed baths which were commonplace, rather than a rarity. Most of all, it was a joy to see her uncle again and to tell him of all her escapades as they tended the birds together. She hadn't lost her touch with the pigeons she had always adored.

If they had planned to stay only a day, or maybe even two, she would never have swayed from the rose tinted image she perceived of her homeland.

On the second morning of her stay, she got up dressed in loose, flowing clothes that let her move with ease and protected her skin from the harsh sun. She knelt and prayed when the first call came and thanked her God for bringing her home.

At the third lunch of her stay, Allan made a joke about Robin and Marian sharing a room. Djaq laughed as Marian went to defend herself. Bassam prevented her from doing so by reprimanding Djaq with a sharp "Safiyyah!"

The atmosphere was rather stilted for the rest of the meal.

On the second afternoon, Djaq and will were to be found sitting on the edge of the decorative pool in the entrance hall of Bassam's house, talking and laughing softly together. They were sitting close, barely an inch separating them, and their fingers were entwined.

During the long journey from England to Acre, they had spent a lot of time together, seeking solace from Robin's constant brooding and John's incurable sea sickness. They had not yet crossed the border to being lovers, but they had kissed and embraced and had passed the stage where they were nervous and shy about their fledgling love.

Djaq was explaining, of all things, the call to prayer when Najwa, the serving girl, came in. She let loose a little gasp at seeing her young mistress in such a vulnerable state and hurried off.

"What's wrong with her?" Will asked, bemused.

Djaq sighed. "She thinks it's not proper for us to be together like this," she said.

"But we weren't doing anything!" he protested.

"This is enough," she said, indicating their joined hands.

Bassam chose that moment to enter. "Safiyyah!" he said happily. "Will you come and feed the birds with me?"

Djaq realised that she could not answer no without offending him but went willingly enough anyway. She did, after all, enjoy spending time with both her uncle and the birds. As they worked, though, she had to ask:

"Did Najwa tell you to separate me and Will?"

She was careful to make the question sound idle and harmless. Bassam hesitated before answering.

"She warned me that you were perhaps a little close, but I am not seeking to part you," he assured his niece. "He is not perhaps who I would have chosen for you, but I can see that you love him, and that he loves you. I seek merely to protect your reputation, Safiyyah, before you are married."

"I know," she said, feeling slightly ashamed. Of course Bassam would want only what was best for her.

"When does he plan to convert to Islam?" Bassam asked, also idly.

The question brought Djaq up short. The underlying assumption that they both would be staying when this half-week was up caught her by surprise. It shouldn't have done so; from the moment she had set foot in her uncle's home two days ago she herself had assumed that she would stay. How could she give up what remained of her family again? How could she leave her homeland when she had a choice this time?

Suddenly, she was not so sure.

"I don't know," she answered vaguely.

"Well he will have to start visiting a mosque soon, Safiyyah," Bassam said in a parental fashion. "You have spent so long together without a chaperon..."

"We have always been with the others," Djaq said, suddenly defensive. She felt like a girl being scolded for the first time in years and did not much like the sensation.

"Don't interrupt," he said lightly. "You have been very lucky that you found yourselves among honourable men, and also that the lady Marian was around."

Djaq refrained from informing him that Marian's behaviour with Robin had been just as scandalous as hers with Will.

"Still, the sooner you are married and safe from gossip, the better," he said.

She could see the sense in his words, but she couldn't help but think that no one gossiped about them in Sherwood. And neither had they had to convert religion to be together. And sharing a bed in winter had been seen as a sensible way of conserving heat.

She didn't answer.

It was that evening that her own name began to grate on her ears, when Bassam began regaling them with tales of Safiyyah as a young child. The reason it annoyed her so was that, by necessity, these tales involved Djaq.

Not her. Her brother.

"I'm confused," said Much for the third time. "Who fell in?"

"Djaq," Bassam said. As if that helped in any way, shape or form.

"My brother," Djaq clarified, slightly frostily.

"It's not that hard," Will decided.

"Yes it is," argued Allan.

Bassam interceded. "You should stop using your brother's name now, Safiyyah. There is no need here."

Silence cloaked the group. How to reply to that?

"I prefer to use his name," she began.

Her uncle frowned. "Why?"

For the first time in a long time, Djaq felt self-conscious. How could she explain that while it was true that she had first assumed a dead boy's persona out of grief, and initially continued it for safety and convenience, now it was simply who she was?

"It's my choice," she said.

"But it is..." He struggled for the right word in English and switched to Arabic. "Unseemly for such a pretty young girl to take the guise of a man. I am sure it is unholy."

Djaq spoke resolutely in English. "To my kin I may be Safiyyah, but to my English friends I am Djaq."

Bassam sighed and though he did not press the matter, Djaq sensed his disappointment. She also saw the others watching her, Robin with the composed face of a leader, Marian with her expression entirely blank but her eyes reading everything her ears could not. And there was Will, seated safely across the table, frowning as he tried to understand the exchange.

That evening, there was a knock on her bedroom door.

"_Na'am? _Yes?" she said, sitting up from where she'd been slouched on her bed, contemplating her name.

Will poked his head round the door. "Can I come in?"

"Of course!" she said. "But quickly, before Najwa sees you."

He complied, shutting the door hastily behind him. Djaq motioned him to sit beside her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes," she sighed. "I'm fine."

He glanced around the room. It was decorated in soft fabrics, mainly of a violent pink or orange. On one hand the bright colours seemed to welcome Djaq after her years in a forest which was always green, grey or brown, but on the other it was far too superficial and flirtatious for its blunt-talking, deep-thinking occupant. This room was more Safiyyah's than Djaq's.

Will took a deep breath. "Do you want to stay here?" Before she had a chance to answer, he pressed on. "I'll stay if you want to. I'm at home wherever you are."

She smiled indulgently. It was so typical of him. "I don't know," she confessed. "Bassam is the only family I have left, and I have missed this." She gestured at the clothes she wore, the soft bed, the window with its view of perfect blue sky.

"And not being a wanted outlaw?"

She frowned. "So long as we stay wanted, rather than caught, being an outlaw is alright. I much prefer this house to a dungeon."

"But?" he prompted.

"I think I have changed too much," she confessed. "I am not the little girl Bassam remembers. And I don't like having to cover my hair when I go out. And if we did stay, you would have to convert to my religion, and that is unfair."

He couldn't help it: he shuddered at the thought of renouncing the Christian God. He knew from past experience that she would not give up Allah any more easily.

"And I would miss everyone so much," she continued. "You would, too. And they need a carpenter and a physician, especially with Marian around."

"That's true," Will agreed jokingly. "She'll drive Robin mad if she doesn't take more care."

"She would have driven him utterly mad if she had died," Djaq added. "I would definitely have stayed if she did not survive."

"I can see that," said Will. "Do you remember what he was like the last time?"

"He would be far worse now," she said. "Now he has tasted life with her, he could not bear it without her."

They sat in silence for a moment, reflecting on the truth of that statement.

"Anyway. We'll be here for a few more days at least," Will said. "You don't have to decide yet."

"Thank goodness," said Djaq. "Now you had better go, before my uncle finds out I am alone in my bedroom with an unmarried man!"

"And Christian, to boot!" Will teased.

"You Christian barbarians," she reciprocated. "But I'll be seeing this barbarian at breakfast."

Taking the hint, he kissed her briefly, then stood and left the room, furtively checking the hallway before he did so.

Djaq sighed as the door shut. It was so tempting to just decide to return to England after the events of that day, but she did not want to get this wrong and spend the rest of her life regretting it. Yet that argument, too, worked both ways. She wished Will would express an opinion one way or the other, but she knew he would live wherever she wanted to live without complaint.

The only conclusion she reached that evening was that she would not reach a conclusion that evening. _Tomorrow,_ she decided. _I'll decide tomorrow._

* * *

Najwa watched the slight young Englishman make his way back to his own room, her eyes burning with a fervent zeal. How dare he defile a Muslim girl so? Though she was no better, with her man's hair, and her immodest behaviour. The others were bawdy and crude, and they had all fought for the Christians, for the Englishmen! She had hated them before she knew who they were, but it was only now that she could see before her own eyes their wicked, heathen ways that she knew they had to be killed. And if the men she had reported to had not been able to make this so, then Allah, praise his Holy name, must wish for her to see it done.

She slipped into the night, and began her work.


	9. Part 2: Chapter 4

It was Robin who woke first, accustomed as he was to sleeping light and constantly being alert for danger. He shifted away from Marian and sat up, trying to clear his head and make sense of what he was hearing.

And what he was hearing was shouting and cheering, still a way off but getting louder. The crowd, for that was what it must be, was quite large, maybe forty people, but it was hard to judge from this distance. Neither could he decipher what they were shouting. If it had been in English, he wouldn't have had to even try to work it out, but despite his informal lessons from Djaq, and his own studies during his time in the Holy Lands, his Arabic simply wasn't that good.

Suddenly he was concerned. Not yet afraid, but there was plenty of time for that. He stood and made his way to the window, pulling on his old shirt as he went. Fortunately his window looked out of the front of the house, which seemed to be the direction from which the crowd was approaching, but he could not yet see anything.

What time was it? He glanced at the star-spattered sky and guessed it only an hour or two before dawn. Frowning, he turned away from the window and looked at his wife. He was loath to wake her when she so needed her rest, especially when he wasn't even sure that the rabble was coming for them, but he couldn't think of any other reason for a Turkish revolt so close to an English army which they would not dare to rise against, knowing they would be squashed as readily as flies. If they weren't revolting against the King's army, what was left to protest at but a ragtag collection of English men and women, alone and vulnerable in the middle of Acre?

Decision made, he shook Marian gently. "Wake up, love."

Blearily, she opened her eyes. "What is it?" she murmured.

"There's some kind of a riot in town which I don't like the sound of," he replied honestly, now tugging on his old boots. "Get dressed—dark colours and take a veil. Arm yourself, just in case."

She was fully awake by now and tentatively swung her legs off the bed, feeling for her clothes. "What are we going to do?"

"Leave, if possible," he said. "I'll get everyone else up."

He kissed her quickly and left the room, grabbing his sword as he went. There was no time to tell her that he loved her; it was as though they were back in Sherwood, constantly living in danger.

The room opposite was Djaq's; he barged in without ceremony. "Djaq! Djaq!"

"What?" she asked, waking abruptly and hardly noticing that she instinctively spoke in English.

"There's some kind of a rabble out there, and I can't hear what they're saying, but I think they're heading this way. Can you—"

"Wait." She flung up a hand and closed her eyes to listen. After a tense ten seconds of so, her eyelids sprang open again and she stared at him urgently. "They are coming for us. They know we are here. Us and Bassam, they say he is harbouring infidels and criminals."

"We've got to get out," he said unnecessarily. "I'll get John and Much—"

"Will and Allan," she confirmed, flinging clothes on with net to no thought for modesty, but it didn't matter because Robin was already out of the room and in the next. With the confirmation of the threat came urgency unlimited, and time seemed to speed up, coming in sharp bursts rather than flowing as all sense dictated it should.

"Wake up!" he said loudly.

Much nearly fell out of bed; John's snoring ceased like a drenched fire.

"What's going on?" asked the latter gruffly as Much said something incoherent.

"There's a rabble coming after us—we're leaving," Robin explained succinctly. "Wear your old clothes, quickly now."

He nearly collided with Marian as he once again burst into the hallway. She held out his bow and quiver, which he slung gratefully over his shoulder.

"They are coming for us, then?" she asked.

"Yes."

Djaq joined them breathlessly in the corridor, emerging from Will and Allan's room. "My uncle," she began.

"He'll have to come with us," said Robin. "Go to him now, then we'll meet downstairs and leave before they get too close."

She didn't waste time on a nod, just turned on her heel and fled to her uncle's chambers.

"Entrance hall," Robin called, so those still dressing would hear, then he tugged Marian to the stairs and down. "I think we can slip round the back of the house and avoid them altogether," he said, half telling her and half planning as he thought.

"Will there be a ship?" she asked.

"Depends on the tides."

"Doesn't have to be bound for England, does it?" she asked rhetorically. "If we can just get out, we'll find our way back."

Their words were batted back and forth, drawing their plans out by way of conversation. They had grown adept at working together after their first unsuccessful foray into the venture.

Much clattered down the stairs with his sword drawn and shield brandished before him, John followed like a charging bull, his staff angled in a practised way so as not to hit anything or anyone. Behind him came Will and Allan, both looking extremely disorientated.

"Where's—?"

"Djaq's gone to fetch her uncle," said Robin, anticipating Will's question. "And ideas on how many that crowd might be?"

A few frowns. "Seventy?" offered Will, the most observant.

"Yeah, about that," confirmed Allan, most used to being on the other side of a crowd.

"It's growing," Robin stated.

"Growing?" Much yelped.

"That, I do not like," commented John, but Robin was speaking over them.

"As long as they don't split up, we'll be fine. As soon as Bassam's ready, we'll go out the back way and make for the docks."

"Home," someone breathed.

"They're coming from inland," Much said, his head cocked to one side to listen.

"Brilliant," Marian sighed.

"We're not out yet," cautioned John.

Djaq came pelting down the stairs at this juncture, but distinctly alone. "He won't come!" she cried. "He is not a soldier, he does not want to fight, and this is his home, he will not leave."

Robin cursed.

"Time is of the essence," said Much, fear evident in his voice. It was true, the rabble was approaching fast.

"He is my uncle!" Djaq protested.

Robin made a snap decision. "Djaq, Marian, you go ahead. Find us berths on a ship. On second thoughts, Allan, you go too."

Marian, he wanted—needed—out of danger, Djaq spoke the language and they would need a male companion according to Muslim customs. John was a little intimidating, and out of the younger men he'd rather have Will and Much at his side if it came to a fight. Not that it would.

Hopefully.

"You won't leave without him," Djaq said. It was not a request, or even an order; it was a simple statement and Robin acknowledged it as such.

"He will be with us, one way or another."

Marian desperately wanted to protest at leaving Robin, and leaving him in danger, but she knew Djaq must feel exactly the same way about Will and she had already learnt that Robin was irrevocably the leader of this gang. So she merely touched his cheek one last time before fleeing with Djaq and Allan at her sides. Djaq took them out the servants' gate, and they had soon vanished into the night.

"I'm going to talk to Bassam," Robin announced, turning his mind firmly from those who had left. "Keep a lookout—go to the upper windows."

The four remaining thundered back up the stairs and each took to a different room. As he was running, Robin considered knocking but dismissed the idea almost immediately. Knocking took time. Upon entering the room, however, he was surprised to find Bassam felly dressed and about to exit.

"You're coming?" he asked, in too much of a hurry to translate his words into Arabic.

"No," said Bassam.

"But—"

"I cannot leave my country."

"You don't have to come to England," Robin reasoned. "Just get out of here and then come back."

"Robin!" John called. "There's at least a hundred."

"And I can see firelight!" added Much.

"Right, don't let them see you. Regroup here," Robin commanded, and they hastily returned.

Bassam noted the absences. "Where is Safiyyah?"

"I sent her ahead with Marian and Allan," Robin said quickly.

"She's safe," Will added, and Bassam immediately relaxed.

Robin spotted a potential way forward. "And I promised her I get you out safely."

"No. Safiyyah is strong, but she is wilful. She needs to have more faith in Allah, and you need to have more faith in your God." He was staring forcefully at the younger men. "These people are my neighbours, my friends. I will tell them that you have left, that you were trying to stop the fighting."

Will looked highly alarmed. "But Djaq—"

"Safiyyah should learn we must not always fight!" he snapped.

The rioters were almost upon them. "Fine," Robin said harshly. "But stay back and come with us if anything, _anything_, looks threatening."

"You have my word," Bassam said gravely.

Without pausing to accept it, Robin spun on his heel and ran of downstairs. He knew the others would be right behind him, and sure enough, Will nearly careered straight into him when he came to a halt in the entrance hall.

"My gang, at the doorposts, out of sight. Bassam, no risks and good luck."

Bassam stood straight and proud. "I do not need luck. Allah is with me."

With this last statement he almost marched to the door.

The Englishmen scrambled to the doorposts, Robin and Much on one side, John and Will on the other. Robin could not see anything from the hinged side, but Will had a better view and was staring intently at the scene. Robin silently cursed his bad judgements as to which side of the door he had run to; he was blind now. Thanks to the noise from the crowd, he would be able to understand only the odd word. He would have to rely on Will, then, to keep an eye on the situation.

The roar of the crowd would have been terrifying to a lesser man, the hot, flickering torchlight a clear warning. Robin more than half-though that Bassam would just be trampled by these men with murder in their hearts, but to his surprise there were shouts of "stop!" and "wait!" And the noise died down.

"_Asidqa'a!" _Bassam began. _Friends!_

After that Robin was lost, trying to keep his concentration on how the crowd sounded rather than what they were saying. They seemed to be listening to him, and he could hear doubtful murmurs. Will seemed not to be overly worried either, and Robin knew the lad would be desperate to keep the old man safe, if only for the sake of his niece.

Gradually, though, the murmurs increased in volume and became strident, and no doubt insulting. Robin, who knew the sound of a blood-baying crowd, became more and more on edge.

"He needs to come back in," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"But we can't go out there!" Much whispered back.

"I know!"

There were shouts now, jeering cries and the beat of weapons on the ground. Bassam's voice was lost and, too late, Robin realised his mistake.

Bassam could not retreat to the house without provoking the rioters into following him, thus putting all of them in danger. The gang could not go out to him because the crowd would see that Bassam had been lying and would turn on them, and four against a hundred were not good odds. Bassam was unarmed and not a fighter anyway, so he would be a liability. It didn't matter that their opponents would mostly be unskilled, since they were not in the army; they would have blocked all exits to the street by sheer mass, making escape impossible.

Not good. Not good at all.

Though on the other hand brilliant. No fun without a challenge!

"I'm going upstairs," Robin announced at a normal volume. Only his assembled gang would be able to hear him. "I'll start shooting—get Bassam in."

"And we'll escape how?" John asked, ever practical.

"We'll have to split up," replied Robin. "Take to the rooftops if you can."

He was about to pull his bow from his shoulder and dart round the dark edges of the room when—

"No!"

The choked cry came from Will.

Who wasn't there.

With a shock, Robin realised several things at once. Firstly that Bassam must be in trouble. Secondly, that Will must have gone to help him. Thirdly, that they could not get out alone. So fourthly:

"Go!"

All at once, Robin, Much and John exploded out into the street and burst into action. What followed did not, however, seem like action. No fight ever did. It was more like a sequence of images and sensations, thudding into his eyes and body with all the precision of a perfectly balanced arrow.

John, teeth bared in a grimace of exertion.

A Turk, no more than a boy, mouth open and eyes wide in shock and fear.

Much, fending off two men at once with his buckler shield.

A scream, high pitched and sharper than a knife.

An older man this time, knife drawn, beaten back with the flat of the sword.

Bassam cowering behind Will, terrified. No, he was not a soldier.

Turning to defend Bassam's defenceless back.

A stroke of fire over his old scar. A wound.

There were too many; this was impossible. The only chance they had was to get out now.

"Back through the house!" he shouted, simultaneously swinging his sword in a wide arc to connect with a man's head. He ignored his new wound; pain would wait.

Once again, Robin realised his mistake too late.

The Englishmen reacted to their native language instantly, needing no time to process the command. The rioters were generally not well-versed in the foreign language and so did not react. Bassam was as fluent as many an English child, but his mind was fully occupied with what was going on around him. He didn't move.

Will, who was right in front of him, did.

They collided; Bassam was knocked to the floor; Will's foot landed on Bassam's; his ankle twisted; he fell; the rabble was upon them at once.

Robin leapt to Will's defence, but every soldier knows that if you go down, you will probably never get up again. As soon as he began to fall, Will's fate was sealed. His death was inevitable. Bassam's, too.

Pain would wait.

"Leave him!" Robin cried, and he joined Much and John in charging back through the house and out of the servants' entrance at the back of the building. They ran unthinking to the sea, following the route they had taken only a fortnight ago in reverse. It was simple enough to evade the crowd: dozens were crowing over their double victory and the rest were slow moving in their large, surging group.

Djaq was waiting at the gangplank of a ship which was clearly ready to leave, its sails billowing like clouds in the approaching dawn.

"Allan and Marian are on board," she called as they neared her. "Where are—"

But then they moved into the growing grey light and she saw how Robin's shirt clung to his side, dark with blood, how Much was sporting a fist sized lump on his head, how John's tough leather coat was scattered with slashes. She saw the look on each face, the same expression three times over and she didn't need to ask.

She turned away, back towards the ship, and they boarded together at a run.

The person who looked back as the ship dragged itself away was Allan, who saw the gap before the survivors.

_End of Part Two_

* * *

_A/N: A big thank you to Arria Rose, who didn't mind me killing Bassam, but did mind me killing Will. Sorry! For a story with a similar basis but a happier fate for Will, go and read her fic 'Til Death Do Us Part' and its sequel 'As Long As We Both Shall Live'._


	10. Epilogue

The journey was long, and the voyage was hard for all. It was not only Marian who now had wounds from which to recover.

There was Robin, with his new injury lying directly on top of the old one, this time infected only with guilt: it was he who had cried "leave him".

There was Much, with a swelling on his head that left him dazed and confused even when he had woken up after a full day of sleep, who had to hear over and over again that Will was gone before he could remember it on his own, and cry for him.

There was John, whose rage turned inwards and whose words dried up, and who watched Djaq with eyes so heavy, knowing that he was lucky to never see his wife, because he would never feel grief like this.

There was Allan, whose apologies were forgotten amongst the sorrows of the others, who was back to awkwardness and isolation among the group.

And then there was Djaq.

She was like a ghost: she appeared only when called, and only then fleetingly. She tended to Robin's wound without comment, sewing it up with the same care that she always did, but without the sharp recriminations about leaving a weak spot unshielded. She ate infrequently, she spoke rarely, and more than once John had caught her staring at the sea, pressed to the bows as if she might pass through the wood altogether.

"I can't stand it," Marian said to Robin one night as they lay wrapped around each other. "I can't help but think that if we'd only left immediately, without spending that week there…"

"But if you think like that, where are you going to draw the line?" he asked. "If we'd left a week earlier and jeopardised your recuperation; if we'd left before you awoke, never realising you were alive; if we'd never gone at all, leaving you and the King both to die."

"Stop it," she whispered. "I know. I know that, all of that. But I cannot help but feel something different."

He didn't respond, but drew her closer to him in silent confirmation that he was feeling it too.

They first made love with tears in their eyes.

The ship wended its way west, stopping in various ports occasionally, but always drawing closer to the British Isles. Days turned into weeks, but the monotonous, unchanging environment aboard made it seem as though they were making no progress at all. Tears still flowed, words still went unspoken, and Djaq was still a shadow at their periphery.

When Southampton was sighted, it was as if Will had died only days ago. English architecture and English ships merely cast a new light on the reality of his death.

"What now?" Allan asked as they all stared out at the coast.

Robin didn't look around at them, though he saw how they all looked to him for the answer. He was gazing back out at the ocean as he replied. "The Sheriff will still be trying to kill us. Gisbourne will still claim my birthright as his own. The poor will still be taxed to the brink of starvation. And we will still just have half a dozen of us."

As Marian's gaze flickered to Djaq, remembering he who would be replaced by her, Robin pretended not to notice.

"We carry on," he said, turning to face them. "Nothing changes, even though everything has changed. This fight, this struggle, it is bigger than us. It does not stop because we might feel tired, or because we might need rest, or because we do not feel capable. It is unstoppable, and so must we be."

"We carry on," echoed John, his face grim and determined.

"We carry on," confirmed Marian, Much, Allan.

Robin looked at Djaq, who raised her head and met his gaze with just a spark of that fire that had been, temporarily, doused.

"For England, for King Richard, and for Will Scarlett, we carry on," she stated.

And so the tale continued.


End file.
